


Popular Vote

by ElisabethMonroe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, F/M, M/M, Modern Era, Politics, drug and alcohol mention, just this once rose everybody lives, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisabethMonroe/pseuds/ElisabethMonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which: A young man with the world at his feet creates the perfect prom date out of the perfect loser then returns to his perfect life. Ten years later, that young man is running for office and needs someone to turn him into the perfect candidate. Enter perfect loser who's really just perfect now.<br/>A politics AU<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't done. I'm a bad human being. I'll probably continue this in mini fics to get everything in it that I wanted so keep a lookout for that. Sorry about the weird chapter breaks. I didn't want to just dump 80 pages in one chapter.
> 
> Here's this [FANTASTIC MIX](http://8tracks.com/obito/pop-u-lar-i-ty) to go with it though! Created by the wonderful WickedLightSleeper
> 
> Yo, I'm on [tumblr](http://abarbaricyalp.tumblr.com/) so if you need to yell at me, this is it.
> 
> Click the links to see the pictures since AO3 kept denying the sources no matter where I uploaded them from.
> 
> Finally, in no way shape or form do I suggest to know anyone that "tweets" in this fic. These are not their views, nor do I claim to know what they would in fact say in these circumstances. It's simply a work of fiction and done all in good fun.

“Enjolras, who are you dating?”

Enjolras jerked back from his locker to stare at some classmate he was pretty sure he’d spoken to exactly three times when they shared Chemistry two years ago. At the time, Enjolras still had very short, parted hair and thought voting Republican was the right thing to do. It didn’t look like the guy who was talking to him had changed that much.

“Why would I be dating anyone? I’m never dating anyone,” he answered slowly. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t like keeping anyone for longer than they were interesting and that was usually not very long with most people.

“Please, it’s the summer, all your friends got hot, you must be dating someone.”

“I’m not dating anyone much less my friends.” That was a whole mess he wasn’t willing to start sorting out yet and he was pretty sure he wasn’t that high up on people who’d be getting dated if his social circle did suddenly decide to move up a level of relationship.

“Come on. There’s gotta be someone. You don’t do anything with anyone. No hot people in your locker or phone. There’s never any porn on your computer…”

“How do you know anything about my phone and laptop? Go to class, go away,” Enjolras muttered, waving his hand at the other boy.

“Dude, come on! Let a brother live.”

Enjolras glared at the other before huffing out a breath. “You know what? I do have a boyfriend. He’s tall and gorgeous and artistic so fuck off and leave me alone,” he ground out, in a total lie.

The boy stared at him, dumbfounded before silently turning and walking off. He didn’t even react as his girlfriend wrapped herself around him. Enjolras smirked to himself and pulled out the books he wanted before dropping them as someone much larger was suddenly crashing into him.

“How the hell are you gonna manage to find a tall, gorgeous, artistic boyfriend before prom?” Bahorel asked as he flopped against the lockers next to Enjolras.

“I’ll manage,” Enjolras muttered, kneeling down to pick up his books. “If anything, I’ll just ask a cousin or one of my parents’ friends’ kids.”

“Must be nice to do that.”

“Ooooh, you have seven siblings. Give me one.”

Bahorel snorted and shook his head. “You’re an idiot. None of my brothers would ever go to prom much less go to prom with you.”

“I’m wounded. Everyone has a price.”

“Well, their price includes buying them out of service and back to the US and then pay them to go to a high school dance with a man, ergo with you.” Bahorel kicked another book towards Enjolras and then grabbed it for him.

“Listen, I can do this. They know me,” Enjolras argued.

“They know you and they hate you. I mean, except Michael but he’s too old anyway. And married. With kids. Who he’ll probably stay with if you yank him home.”

Enjolras groaned and shut his locker. “That’s not fair. Fuck.”

Bahorel laughed and shook his head. “Dude, let’s just get to class. I need to see your calc shit. I’m pretty sure I did all of them wrong.”

“Isn’t your mom a mathematician?” Enjolras asked, walking with Bahorel towards their first period class.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything…” Bahorel started before a boy was suddenly stumbling into Enjolras and knocking him into Bahorel who in turn stumbled back a few steps.

“What the hell is your problem?” Bahorel barked. The kid didn’t even react, which never happened. People always reacted to Bahorel. That tended to happen when you were almost seven feet tall and three hundred pounds of muscle. Instead, the dark haired boy continued by them and tugged a cloud of stench behind him. Weed and alcohol at eight in the morning. Classy.

Enjolras stared after him and Bahorel nearly plowed him over. “What the fuck, dude?” the bigger man muttered. He shoved Enjolras to get him moving but suddenly came to a halt as his blond friend was zapping in front of him and hurrying after the other boy. Bahorel had no recollection of Enjolras having any kind of fun to get addicted to things but, hey, each to their own. He shook his head and continued on.

Enjolras followed the boy into the art room which was just perfect. Enjolras straightened his shirt and vest before stepping into the classroom and sitting across from the boy who was already pulling out paints from the basket under his table. Again, he didn’t react. Enjolras cleared his throat shifted how he was standing but the boy didn’t even glance at him.

What the hell? Was he deaf or blind or something? “Um, hey, are you new?”

Finally, the boy looked at him and raised an eyebrow before snorting. “We’ve had nineteen classes together since sixth grade. Are you honestly telling me you’ve never seen me before?”

Enjolras racked his mind but came up short. Maybe it was second hand weed. That was a thing right?

“Are you sure? I don’t remember you…” Enjolras admitted. Honesty could be the thing the guy was looking for.

“Typical. I didn’t expect you to remember me. Why the hell would you remember me? I’m lower class, inherited the house from my grandparents, and ended up in your rich ass district. Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking idiot. I know you don’t know me. That was obvious from the moment you walked over. The only thing I don’t understand is why the hell you’re here, talking to me, when you don’t even know my name.”

Well, he wasn’t looking for honesty.

Enjolras blinked and chewed on his lower lip as he tried to think of something to say. After that spiel there wasn’t much. But Enjolras was a talker and he really wanted this guy on his side.

“You’re an artist,” he offered with a put on grin.

“Oh, don’t do that,” the boy said. “Scowling is much more your style.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed a spray can, shaking it loudly and probably too close to Enjolras’ face.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras tried again as he dropped the grin and simply watched the other boy.

“I’m painting, you idiot. I know you’re pretty but you’ve got to have at least half a brain cell under all that blond.

“Yeah, but aren’t those oils? Won’t the spray paint…well, number one, it’s a different medium and then won’t the spray paint make the oils wet again?”

“Please tell me what you want before I spray paint you,” the kid groaned, tugging a paint stained hand through a mane of curls.

“Listen, I’m not gonna lie…”

“I don’t need the preamble, Apollo…”

Enjolras was trucking on with his preamble but came up short as the words clicked into place in his brain. “What does that mean?”  he asked with a frown.

“Oh, come on, you know how hot you are,” the artist snorted as he turned his canvas on its side and started to spray paint the edges of the canvas.

“Well…yes?” Enjolras ventured. “But…you seem not to…”

“Anyone who glances at you knows how hot you are,” he answered.

“What does that have to do with Apollo, though? I mean…the Greek god of the sun…would be hot in the temperature sense of the word…”

“And physically. That is often the depiction of him within both contemporary and modern literature and art,” he explained after a moment of internal struggle. He truly just wanted to ignore the perfect, obnoxious, gorgeous guy in front of him. “Not to mention, he is typically seen with ridiculous blond hair and a beautiful body and eyes aflame with desire or passion or whatever…”

Enjolras, once again, found himself at a loss for words. This was becoming increasingly frustrating. He ran his tongue over his lips and glanced around the art room.

“See, this is what happens when you have a preamble. You never get to your fucking point. Tell me what you want or go away,” the other guy demanded.

Oh. Right. Words. “I need you to be my prom date and I need you to grow three inches.”

The dark haired boy slowly lowered his spray paint and stared at Enjolras dubiously. “You want…” He looked around for other people before bursting out laughing. “You want me to go to prom with you? Are you kidding me? Are you just…” He had to set the can down and folded his arms on the table to press his face into. “This is absolutely…oh my God...are you even real? No. I wouldn’t go to prom with you if we were dating much less under any other circumstances. Oh my God, prom,” he sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll pay for everything…”

“That’s not gonna be your copout this time. You don’t get to buy your way out of this. I don’t want to go, much less with you, much less while you’re paying for everything. I watch crime shows. I know what happens when a guy pays for prom entirely and the partner isn’t interested.”

Enjolras groaned and dropped his head on the table. It made a much louder hollow sound than he was expecting and he waited for the pain to kick it, though it never did.

“And I’m taller than I look, asshole. I just slouch,” the guy added with a snort. “How about this. You tell me my name, I’ll go with you to prom,” he offered with a smirk. He leaned back on the stool and waited.

Enjolras swallowed and glanced around for any help. There were stacks of drying racks in the corner with names on them but there were roughly fifty thousand classes that this room held so that really wasn’t helpful. He looked at the colors painted over the guy’s arms and hands—muted blues and greens with dabs of orange and flecks of white—and tried to find an artwork around that had those colors. It took him a few minutes to realize that the artwork between him and the guy had those colors. Dammit.

He did notice that all of the really amazing artwork around was signed with a bold, forest green R in the lower corner. He glanced at the sideways painting in front of him and then compared it to the work hanging on the walls or taped to doors. R. Alright, R. Richard. Reid. Riley. Robin. Robinson. Robins. This was going to take forever. There was no way he’d be able to figure it out.

He thought back to sixth grade, though all he really remembered was his science class because he loved his teacher and defended her relentlessly against everyone who spoke ill against her. She was a lot of the reason that Enjolras even talked to adults now. He had been deathly shy before meeting her but, God, he _had_ to talk to her. He had to know everything she had to tell. He wanted to learn everything about everything and she was more than willing to allow it. She read books that he suggested and helped him with papers and never hindered anything that he needed.

There was one thing though. Being teacher’s pet was great but that meant that the teacher trusted you more than anyone else and there was a new kid… He was dirty and ratty and didn’t talk, didn’t do his work, didn’t do anything but stare straight ahead. Mrs. Ramzenski had assigned Enjolras to be his partner, to make sure the kid got his work done. Sometimes Enjolras was distracted by hair so dark it looked like it shouldn’t exist. He had been funny too. Little things under his breath. He had such a wit on him that Enjolras had to learn to laugh without moving. What was his name? What was it? It was a pun. An awful pun that only Enjolras got.

Oh.

“Grantaire,” he said finally with a wide grin. “Your name is Grantaire. We had science together in sixth grade. You were brand new and you didn’t talk to anyone. When our teacher brought her snake to class, you were the only one brave enough to let her put it around your shoulders,” he listed.

Grantaire glanced at him and slowly started to smile, albeit ruefully. “Yeah. You were always making me do my work and then you’d look away as I copied yours,” he said with a nod.

“Where did you go? I mean…afterwards, I don’t remember seeing you again. You say you were in my classes but I looked for you and never saw you…”

“I don’t think you wanted to see me. You had Combeferre and then Bahorel came and you already knew him and there was debate in high school which had all your attention…”

Enjolras shook his head. “There was…”

“Enjolras, you were an awful person. You still kind of are. You could barely deign to talk to anyone below your socioeconomic level and you were too blind to even admit you had privilege.”

“That’s not true!” Enjolras objected immediately.

“It’s true. Once you were done with me, you never looked back. Stop acting like you cared about me. You didn’t even remember me,” Grantaire snapped.  

Enjolras gritted his teeth and looked away. “Look, I’m going to text you the details about when to meet me where to get a tux. Don’t worry about the cost, I’ll deal with it. We can go with my friends. We already have plans and reservations…”

“It’s August, Apollo. Why the hell are you already working on prom shit?”

“Well, I need to make you presentable…”

“Presentable?! Are you fucking kidding me? I’m a damn human being and you need to fucking fuck off with all your pretentious bullshit, alright? If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this my way. You can buy all the fancy shit you want and drag me out to the most expensive hotels you know of and parade me around with your friends but you will treat me as a human first and foremost. One is who is on the same level of existence as you. Once who is commanding of respect and fairness. I will not be your fucking dog to dress and tug and then talk of as if I can’t hear you. Are we understood?” Grantaire demanded.

Enjolras glared at Grantaire but was met with the same fire and determination. “Understood,” he finally bit out.

The bell rang and Grantaire shoved in ear buds before turning from Enjolras completely. Enjolras grabbed his bag and stormed away.


	2. Chapter 2

Senior year was a blur for Enjolras. There were so many things going on and so many different changes—mostly within himself. Despite the fact that by October, Enjolras had been automatically accepted into all of his top schools, he stayed up on his school work and his extra-curriculars. In his debate program, he excelled in a way he never had. He had also been one of the best but he seemed to take senior year as his time to be _the_ best and, in fact, be so good that no one ever followed in his footsteps and reached the same heights as him. It wasn’t because he was a bad leader. Perhaps a bad teacher, but not a bad leader. He just pushed himself to such extremes that even Combeferre had taken a step back before Enjolras.

And then there was Grantaire. Grantaire was a force in and of himself. Enjolras didn’t know quite how to deal with him. As it was, Enjolras could only recall snapshots of their tense time together.

...

 “No, no, no,” Combeferre said, letting go of Grantaire and repositioning them. Enjolras laughed off to the side. “You have to step like this. One, two, three, four, and turn.”

Grantaire stumbled into Combeferre’s chest and pulled away, groaning and rubbing his nose. “Why do I have to lead? He’s a guy too. I’m sure he already knows how to do this.”

“Yes, but you’re taller,” Combeferre pointed out. “Now, let’s try again. One forward, two right, three forward, four open, and turn, arm up, palm open, there you go, let your hand drag along the small of his back to keep him grounded.”

“Okay but you’re taller than me, you lead,” Grantaire insisted. Enjolras laughed again and held a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

Combeferre looked at him over his shoulder and nodded. “Get over here. He can’t be used to someone smaller while dancing with me,” he pointed out as a grin flickered over his lips before he schooled his expression again.

Enjolras sighed and slid off the desk he was sitting on with his feet tucked under him. “It’s no hardship for me.” He stepped into Grantaire’s arms and waited for Grantaire to move his hands as he had with Combeferre. God knew why he couldn’t just rest his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder but whatever. As long as he learned how to dance.

Grantaire, as pathetic as he knew it was, really wanted a sharp zap of electricity to spark over their skin as they held onto each other, as Enjolras relaxed into Grantaire’s stiff pose.

There was no zap.

…

Bahorel had insisted that they meet in the gym for something, which Enjolras thought was really unfair because he was incredibly busy with his own affairs and the fact that Bahorel was in the gym when he should have rightfully been in the debate practice that Enjolras was having to cut short was a little bit peeving. Very peeving.

He stepped through the doors and his nose crinkled at the rubber smell of the mats and weights. He found Bahorel splayed out over bench lifting an absurd amount of weight. That was normal. The issue came in the form of a shirtless, sweaty, grinning Grantaire in little running shorts who was spotting Bahorel and laughing at some joke from the football player.

That was extremely problematic.

It wasn’t even that Grantaire was attractive because he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. He was overweight and wore it in just the wrong way and had too much damn hair but…good Christ…that grin.

There was something else though. Dark bruises covered his body, so deep that Enjolras could see where his bones were because the bruises were lighter, but only barely. Scars warped his skin into a convoluted canvas. Enjolras was staring. He couldn’t stop.

The door banged shut behind Enjolras and he and Grantaire jumped. The dark haired boy quickly scrambled to grab his shirt, tugging it on so fast that Enjolras wasn’t quite sure how he managed. He stared at Enjolras, wide eyed and terrified.

“Enj!” Bahorel called with that booming laugh, completely oblivious to the other two’s struggles. Enjolras couldn’t forget the look on Grantaire’s face and it plagued his thoughts. To this day, he had no idea what Bahorel ended up talking about but he remembered Grantaire’s eyes and the way he stopped breathing.

…

“I think you should cut your hair”

“Fuck off.”

…

Grantaire showed up at Enjolras’ door one evening, soaking wet from the heavy rain and looking worse for the wear. He had a large bruise over his right eye and held his shoulder higher than it would normally be, arm strapped to his chest with a jacket.

Enjolras didn’t say a word as he stepped aside and let Grantaire in before leading him to the bathroom. “Just throw your clothes over in that corner,” he said, nodding.

“What? No. I don’t…I don’t need to be patched up. I already went somewhere. I just…I want…I don’t want to get high… I know you hate it. And I don’t want to drink. So I came to the only person I knew who wouldn’t let me…” Grantaire bit his lip and looked at the ground.

Enjolras took a breath and nodded. “That’s well and good and I’m really proud of you for being strong enough to do this but you need to get out of those clothes. I’ve got some stuff that’ll probably fit you.”

More specifically. He had stuff Combeferre had left over at various points in their lives that would fit Grantaire. Enjolras ducked out of the room to give him privacy and started to look for Combeferre’s clothes. He realized with a slight start he and Combeferre hadn’t slept together since this entire fiasco started, which was weird because he didn’t think they’d gone a week since sophomore year without sleeping together at least once.

He crossed back to the bathroom and knocked on the door lightly. “Hey, R? I have some sweats and a tank top,” he said. “I’m gonna step in, if that’s okay…” He waited for an objection and then opened the door when none came.

Grantaire was sitting on the toilet, sobbing and hiding his face in his hands. Enjolras stood awkwardly in the doorway before moving to sit on the side of the tub and rub Grantaire’s back. He was right about the bruises littering the rest of his body.

“I try so fucking much but it’s so hard to be everything normal people are,” Grantaire whimpered without moving.

Enjolras sighed and reached over to hold Grantaire’s wrist gently without saying a word.

…

“God, no, not light blue. That’s such a tacky color,” Grantaire groaned as he stood and let himself get measured while Enjolras looked at accent colors. He felt slightly humiliated doing this. It was ridiculous and absurd. Fuck, he’d spent the last week at Eponine’s house and had dealt with the hour long drive either way to get to school on time just to avoid potentially getting more bruises. He watched the bruises fade over the week and probed at his body the longer he stood in front of his mirror mostly naked at night. It was odd to look into this mirror and see bare skin.

He swallowed and tilted his head back before receiving a reprimand. “What color would you suggest then?” Enjolras demanded from off to his left.

“It’s, like, dark grey suits, right?” Grantaire asked. “So, what if we accented with red, since you want a bright accent?”

“I want a bright shirt. The accents are different,” Enjolras answered, though he smiled slightly at Grantaire’s attempt to understand everything that was happening.

“Alright, dark grey suits, red shirts, black accents,” Grantaire answered. “Done.”

“That’s so simple and cliché though.”

“No, cliché is a black suit, white shirt, and light blue accents to match the dress that your girlfriend _just had to have, baaaaabe_!” he answered, mimicking a high pitched voice towards the end.

“What about green?”

Enjolras hummed and glanced up at Grantaire form where he was staring at swatches of fabric. “What about it?”

“Green, for the shirts. Something less than lime green but more than dark green, right?”

Enjolras thought in silence with a kind of air that was telling Grantaire it probably wasn’t going to happen but suddenly lit up. “Oh my God, R, you’re a genius. I have to talk to Ferre,” he said quickly, ducking out of the room to text Combeferre and try on two different outfits.

Grantaire sighed and turned back to the mirror, half expecting blue and black to bloom from his chest for how much it ached.

[Enjolras/Combeferre Text](http://imgur.com/Ik7z3VL)

…

Enjolras’ most impressive feat wasn’t transforming his own feelings or Grantaire’s but the school’s feelings. He watched, quite content, from his locker as a flock of girls crowded around Grantaire as he tried to drag a large art piece down the hall. The guy had a promising future, Enjolras always had to give him that.

These girls were all over him, though, so he really wasn’t getting far with the massive wooden piece. He grinned and humored them, even kissing one on the cheek and letting a few others go through a sketchpad. It was a gorgeous sight.

Not to be shallow, but Enjolras really couldn’t afford to pretend to date someone who wasn’t popular. That was the whole point of this, right? To get Grantaire popular?

The moment was broken when Bahorel threw himself over Enjolras again and knocked him into his locker. Again. The man didn’t know his own strength. “Have you heard the fantastic news?!” he nearly shouted.

Enjolras put a steadying hand on his chest and pushed him back so they weren’t so right on top of each other. “That Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior? Yes. Now hush,” he commanded, looking back at Grantaire and smiling as he handed over his jacket to a third girl.

And then Combeferre was standing in front of him, shoving a paper into his hands. “As fantastic as I’m sure you find Jesus, I believe Bahorel is referring to this,” he said with a nod to it.

It was the ballot for prom spots and under Favorite Couple was Pierre Enjolras/Simon Grantaire. Simon. That was nice. Enjolras looked at Grantaire and grinned before positively melting as the dark haired boy caught his eye and smiled back.

…

“If you’re my boyfriend, you can’t keep hanging out with girls and acting like you’re dating them.”

“If you’re my boyfriend, you should kiss me.”

“Um, no.”

“Same.”

…

“We’ve received some distressing news.” Debate practice never went well when it started with those words. Enjolras turned from where he was arguing with Combeferre, sitting on a desk and looking at his coach. The last time those words had opened a meeting, four of their competitors had been in a serious car accident. Notable contenders before that had been the death of the assistant coach’s husband, the loss of funding for overnight competitions, and the disqualification of a certain football player from his national spot because he was caught smoking pot in the Pizza Hut parking lot.

“What is it?” Combeferre asked, looking honestly distressed as he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Our NSDA qualifier has been moved back a day.”

“Wait, no, that’s prom!” Bahorel shouted just before the words clicked in Enjolras’ mind. His face paled and he curled his fingers in the strap of his backpack.

“I know,” the coach replied in a sigh.  “And I’m really hoping you all make the right decision but I’m not telling you which to prioritize.”

“Isn’t…I mean, last year, the weight lifting team competed and got to leave early. They just emailed us the results and mailed us our trophies,” Bahorel argued. “Can’t we do that? Plumet High isn’t that far. We could just get back in time for prom.”

“Um, no, I have appointments scheduled all day,” a girl said quickly. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I just can’t. It’s senior year.”

“And, let’s be honest, you weren’t going to qualify anyway,” her friend teased. “But I can’t go either. I mean, this is a ton of preparation.”

“Maybe if you put enough preparation into your interp pieces, you’d have a chance to move on,” Enjolras bit out. It wasn’t fair that they had such an easy out. He was going to nationals. He always did. There were internships available for four year qualifiers.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” their coach said quickly. “The competition has been shoved back because Plumet High can’t host. Their debate program fell apart with the disappearance of their coach a few days ago. They’re under a full investigation.”

Enjolras groaned and shoved a hand through his hair roughly, hanging his head. “Where did it get moved to?” he asked.

“Paris Annex,” the coach said to the groans of all the students. “Six hours away. The final debate isn’t scheduled to start until five in the afternoon.” He turned his attention on Enjolras. “You won’t be done until six and then there’s awards. We wouldn’t get home before 12:30. I’m sorry, kid. I know you were planning on going this year…”

Enjolras clenched his jaw and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “That’s not the issue. The issue is that I promised someone I’d take them.”

“Ah, yes, Grantaire. Enjolras, for the amount of times he’s let other people down, it’d be hypocritical of him to be upset.”

“He’s a human being!” Enjolras shouted before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry. Just…he doesn’t deserve that. He has feelings too.”

Combeferre sighed and rubbed his hand up and down Enjolras’ back. “I’ll be there,” he offered softly.

“Well, I won’t be. I’ve got a hot date and I’ve been to nationals. It’s not that important,” Bahorel announced with a nod.

The coach tilted his head this way and that. “If you wanted to do your interp piece, you could be home by eight,” he offered. Enjolras didn’t get to see the massive man’s face light up.

“Really? You’ll let me do that? You haven’t let me compete all semester!”

Enjolras knew it was wrong to be so amazingly pissed off at Bahorel but he was so pissed off at him. At everything. God, he had to tell Grantaire.

…

“What the fuck do you mean your qualifying competition is on Prom night?!” Grantaire shouted.

Enjolras sighed and laid back on his bed, rubbing his nose and letting out a long breath. “It was supposed to be the night before prom but the school had to cancel last minute and it got moved to another school a day later. It’s almost three hours away. There’s no way I can do both and I’m sorry but this is a national qualifier and I have to. This is my circuit. This is the one that I do. It’s senior year…”

“You don’t have to go. Just leave early!” Grantaire objected.

“Don’t tell me to give up what I love!”

“What? Like you’ve been doing to me all year?”

“This is different, R! This is my future, not drugs, not alcohol, not sex…”

“That’s not fair! You promised! You were taking me…”

“Fuck off! You didn’t want to go anyway! You’ve dug your heels in every step of the way!” Enjolras shouted, throwing a pillow at Grantaire. He heard it hit the wall and knock over something tacked up or on the shelf under it or something. It really didn’t matter.

The room fell silent and Enjolras didn’t have to lift his head to know the heartbroken expression on Grantaire’s face. There was no sound of Grantaire leaving and Enjolras sighed. This would be so much easier if Grantaire just left.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do. You can still go alone, if you want. There’s still a reservation for you and room in the limo and everyone…”

“Are you about to say everyone loves me? Because even you know that that is a total lie. Bahorel is the only one who can stand me and him and that girl who _won’t stop fucking laughing_ are gonna be on each other’s faces the entire time…”

“Then go stag! I don’t care what you do!”

“I’m not going to go in an ass ugly green suit to a dance I don’t fucking care about just because you remembered my fucking name, which is probably the least amount of humanity needed in a person, by the way.”

“I don’t care!”

“I know you don’t! Jesus Christ, I hate you so fucking much! I hope you figure out everything you’ve been fucking missing, you piece of shit!”

The door slammed finally.

…

Grantaire didn’t come to school the whole next week.

…

Prom came and went. Enjolras advanced on to nationals in the highest position.

…

Grantaire wasn’t at school on Monday.

…

Grantaire wasn’t at school on Tuesday.

…

Grantaire was at school on Wednesday. Enjolras wished he wasn’t.

He looked awful. He was in the clothes like he’d been in when Enjolras had first met him. Enjolras hadn’t even noticed he started wearing different clothes. He was wearing big sunglasses but dark bruises still covered the majority of his face. Enjolras was assuming they traveled further down his body as well. At some point, he noticed blood on Grantaire’s sleeve and understood when he bent his arm and the stain ended up against the inside of his elbow.

Grantaire didn’t look at Enjolras once.

…

Grantaire and Enjolras didn’t speak again for the rest of the year. Hell, Enjolras didn’t remember seeing Grantaire at graduation.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire snorted a line of something off the smooth line of Eponine’s stomach. Though the deep indents of her ribs provided more structure but it was too much effort to actually get the drugs out of the crevice. He ran his mouth over her skin, sucking a bruise just below her sternum before closing his eyes and resting his head on her chest.

Almost two years out of high school and this was all he had to show for it. A few messy drug runs and a family of criminals. He spent more time inebriated than sober and he found himself sleeping out on the streets rather than in a bed. He was so high he could barely even be disgusted by it, though. He shifted to suck at the edge of Eponine’s boob while reaching over for the joint he’d been smoking earlier.

“Get that shit away from me, R,” she snapped, much to his surprise. Eponine was never one to give up a hit off someone else’s drugs.

“What the hell? Are you giving it up for Lent?” he asked sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes and kicked him in the hip hard. “No, fuckass,” she muttered before falling silent and looking away.

Grantaire sat up and tried to sort out his thoughts in his extremely intoxicated brain. “What’s going on?” he asked as seriously as he could manage.

Eponine sighed and reached for her phone. She opened a few apps before turning the phone around to face him. He kept his eyes on the black and white image. His blood ran cold and he felt his stomach try to climb out of his throat. When he threw the phone back, his hands were shaking.

“Is it mine?” he asked quietly.

Eponine shook her head. “No.”

“Are you getting rid of it?”

There was a pause before she shook her head again. “No,” she said, voice breaking in the two letters. “I…I can’t…”

Grantaire turned around and grabbed a trashcan before getting sick in it. “It isn’t yours. Why are you acting like this?” Eponine snapped, turning on her side and pulling a pillow to her chest.

Grantaire ran the back of his hand over his mouth and shook his head. “No. It’s not…how the fuck do you know it’s not mine?” he asked. “We fuck all the time…”

She shook her head and pressed her face to the pillow. “We’re safe. And…I’m six weeks and you’ve been working and you know you don’t fuck when you’re sober and you don’t work if you’re high so…”

“That doesn’t mean shit. It could be mine…”

“It’s not yours! I don’t want it to be yours! You should get the fuck out of here and not look back. I don’t want you fucking stuck here for another eighteen damn years and I don’t want you to have a say in it.”

Grantaire took a deep breath and ignored the pain of Eponine’s words. He collapsed back against the bed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not…” He shook his head and screamed suddenly. He felt Eponine jump but she didn’t say anything. “I’m not leaving. I’ll help. Because if it isn’t mine…”

Eponine swallowed and felt tears start down cheeks. “It’s Mont’s…” she confirmed.

“He won’t do shit for you. I’m not leaving you alone…”

“What? You’re such a better choice? You’re a fucking mess. You had fucking Julliard ready to take you and you destroyed your damn work because of a piss poor, obnoxious, arrogant, piece of shit white boy who didn’t have a world past his fucking golf clubs and gold cards. How would you raise a child?!” she demanded harshly, tears evident in her shattered voice. She moved one hand to her hair and it knotted it in the long locks, holding her arm securely over her ear.

“You said you wouldn’t talk about him!” Grantaire accused. “And it’s different. He’s gone. He’s not ever coming back. I want to help you. This isn’t about him. This is about us and a baby and you know you can’t take care of one on your own.”

“And what? He grows up with a whore mother and a crack head father?” Eponine scoffed. She was shaking entirely but she most definitely did shake her head at that.

“You’re not a whore…” Grantaire tried.

“Who lets a gay fucking drug dealer and God knows what else knock her up?” she spat.

“Obviously he’s not gay…”

“Just shut the fuck up, R!”

Grantaire pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until it started to really hurt his head. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be there for you…” He nodded and ran his tongue over his lips. “And…and…I’ll get a real job. Two, three, how many ever it takes to get us out of here and away from Parnasse, alright? And as soon as I come down from this…”

“You’ll forget you ever said any of it? I know. We’ve been here before.”

“No, I swear, this time it’s happening. As soon as I come down, I’m never getting back into any of this.”

Eponine was silent for so long Grantaire almost feel asleep to the constant, wild beating of his heart. “I have one condition,” she said suddenly.

Grantaire hesitated before sighing. “What is it?”

“You go back to school. I can’t get into any college. I don’t have a GED. But you could do anything you wanted.”

“Julliard won’t take me again. I haven’t done any art in years…”

“Then fuck Julliard. Just go somewhere and get a degree so you can actually do something with your life.”

“Ep…I’m not leaving you with a kid five years into,” Grantaire objected.

“My condition or I’m staying here…”

Grantaire had an awful, awful, awful retort on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it back. Having the last word wasn’t worth losing her.

“Alright. Fine. After I get a little bit of money saved up, I’ll apply.”

“You’ll apply for the fall semester,” Eponine corrected.

“Ep, those apps are due. I can’t…we can’t afford that.”

“We’re not a We. You can run one more job and start applying. I’ll make sure Mont gives you a big job.”

“What are you going to do? Fuck him again?”

Her lack of response was enough. Grantaire sighed and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the drugs and emotions and alcohol to knock him out.


	4. Chapter 4

[Maternity Shoot](http://imgur.com/DkLjp3z)

[Family Collage](http://imgur.com/Q4J77j8)

[R and Gav <3](http://imgur.com/KS0HwEI)

[Daddy's Boy](http://imgur.com/XcqdzSU)   

 

“The weirdest fucking thing happened at the office today,” Grantaire said with a groan, depositing his bag on the couch and collapsing down next to the Boombah on the couch with little Gavroche tucked in it, watching Tellytubbies. Tellies in their tubbies. Brilliant.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Eponine asked, walking out of the kitchenette with a bottle and handing it over to Grantaire. He maneuvered the three month old out of his rubber seat and held him in the crook of his arm. Eponine switched the tv to a music/white noise station. It was the only way to get the baby to eat, they’d found. He was a musical little kid. Danced to every beat put in front of him.

“Guy came in looking for the journalists and I was like ‘dude, wrong floor but what do you need?’ and he said he needed a social media presence so the media would leave him alone and I was showing him what all I’d done when I was looking for jobs. The guy offered me five hundred dollars to get him started. It was fucking crazy.”

“Did you take it?” Eponine asked with a grin.

“Did I take it?!” Grantaire scoffed. “Yes I took it! I set him up several accounts. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter. Took my break and took him to the café upstairs and showed him how to use them all. Connected all the accounts for him and told him to call me if he ever needed anything else.”

“That’s good, R,” Eponine said with a grin, reaching over to squeeze his knee. Gavroche squirmed in his arms and Grantaire shifted him so the little one was a little more upright. “How’s class scheduling going?”

Grantaire shrugged and tapped on the bottle in time with the music. “I don’t know. I got rid of a lot of basics these past two semesters so I’m really having to think about what I want to major in.”

“R, go back into art. I mean, you’re managing doing all of this but don’t imagine that I don’t notice how often you come back covered in paint with the community art sessions or how often you’re on photoshop.”

“It’s just not reasonable, Ep,” Grantaire objected quickly. “I’ve got to provide for all three of us.”

“I’m bringing in enough money that you can take a few hours off a week and get back into art,” Eponine answered, shaking her head. “And I’m about to pick up a shift teaching self-defense at a gym.” She shifted in her seat to lean forward and her voice rose to passionate levels. “R, it’s been less than a year since we decided we were going to do this. Look at how far we’ve come since Montparnasse’s floor. Our taps work, we have vegetables, we haven’t touched drugs in almost an entire year. We can do this.”

“I’m not saying we can’t,” Grantaire agreed, pulling the bottle away from Gavroche’s mouth to let him breathe, even if he was whining and reaching for the bottle as he did. “But we’re doing all of this with me working over forty hours a week and picking up odd jobs over the weekends.”

“Look, all I’m saying is give it a try. Sell a few paintings, get some extra cash.”

“I like getting extra cash for helping fresh faced actors into Twitter,” Grantaire snorted.

Eponine’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t you take some business classes? Advertising or Social Media or Public Relations? Take a Sociology course.”

Grantaire glanced up at her and shrugged. “Guess business couldn’t hurt. Could still take an English or Art course on the side.”

Eponine grinned and nodded. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”


	5. Chapter 5

 “Jesus, Ferre. Christ, I need to be able to walk tomorrow,” Enjolras groaned, rolling onto his side to avoid being on his back. He tucked his head against Combeferre’s shoulder and let out a shaky breath. “Fuck me, that was rough.”

“Already done that and you asked for it. No, literally, you asked me to be hard and fast,” Combeferre breathed, tracing his fingers up and down his own chest before moving them to Enjolras’ arm. He couldn’t even think of this as an odd arrangement anymore. It wasn’t. It was just what they did. They had been for thirteen years. Thirteen. Jesus. That was almost half their life. He wasn’t even sure how it happened anymore. He just knew that sleeping together had been a norm. Always. If they were stressed or happy or bored, they had the other to go to.

“I know I did. I just didn’t know what I wanted,” Enjolras said with a groan. An easy silence fell between them for several minutes before Enjolras rolled over to grab his phone. No rest for the wicked. He cringed at the 25 emails that sat new in his inbox and ignored the text messages from Feuilly—his intern. Well, the entire campaign had thousands of interns, paid of course, but Feuilly was his. An assistant, really. Enjolras adored him more than he could say. Feuilly, despite having none of the privilege that Enjolras did, managed to be far happier and kinder and just as hopeful as Enjolras. He was amazing. But not the most important man in the world right now.

Combeferre rolled over to wrap an arm around Enjolras’ waist and pressed a few slow kisses to Enjolras’ shoulder. “You need to sleep,” he murmured gently. “Give me your phone. As your campaign manager, I demand you take a break from social media,” he chided with a small smile. He grabbed Enjolras’ phone and was just about to throw it across the room when a Google Match pinged and Enjolras quickly grabbed his phone back and opened the new article about him. He paled when he saw it.

“You can’t be mad,” he insisted firmly when Combeferre grabbed his phone back.

“The hell I can’t. You’re very easy to be mad at.”

Enjolras grabbed his phone and shook his head. “You don’t get to see.”

“I’ll eventually find out anyway,” Combeferre sighed. He pulled Enjolras into his arms and tugged the phone from his fingers, throwing it on a pile of clothes Enjolras had to wash. “Breathe, darling. I’ll take care of it,” he promised, kissing Enjolras’ forehead softly. “Whatever it is.”

Enjolras pressed against Combeferre’s side and shook his head. “It isn’t that bad,” he promised, mouthing over Combeferre’s shoulder and then resting his head there. He slipped his fingers between Combeferre’s and rested them over the man’s stomach before smiling. “My lover is all eyelashes and waist and smiles,” he started.

Combeferre groaned under him and turned to press his face to the pillow. “Please don’t start,” he mumbled.

“His fingers twine with mine to make a piano/As if the music against my chest/Or stomach/Or thigh/Or the air between us/Could ever compare/To the music from his lips.”

“Enjolras, I’m warning you…”

“My lover is fire and ice/The destruction of the world/At his fingertips/And all he wants/Is to save it.”

“That was so long ago. Please stop.”

“My lover is not who people want him to be/My lover is not who he wants to be/My lover is exactly who I need.”

“My lover is going to be smothered soon.”

“I find Rumi’s poetry in the/Pale expanse of skin/Like an oasis in the desert/Between his hips/Joan of Arc’s battle cries/Run the length of his shoulders/I trace Wollstonecraft’s prose down his arms.”

“Evidently you reminded me of a woman.”

“My lover is white/Which is bad/My lover is a man/Which is bad/My lover is my best friend/Which is bad.”

“Why did you memorize this?”

“But everything about him is good/He is the best man in the entire world/He deserves words/And sentences/And pages/And books/And collections/And series/And adaptations/My lover deserves to live on forever.”

“Sophomore year was a really weird time for me. Knock it off.”

“My lover lies next to me/The miracle of life/Rising and falling his chest/His eyes shifting/With the promise of dreams/He is warm against my side/He is perfect/He is beautiful/He is so much more than I can say/In a few lines/And stanzas/Or verses/My lover is everything/My lover is mine.”

“God, I hate you so much.”

Enjolras laughed and shook his head, kissing Combeferre’s shoulder with the corner of his lips. “I thought it was the most impressive thing I’d ever heard.”

“It was trash,” Combeferre snorted, rolling his eyes. “And embarrassing. I can’t believe I actually read that out loud. I can’t believe no one tried to kill me for it.”

“This is real life, not a dramatized TV show. No one cared about us that much,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

And easy silence fell over them and Combeferre shifted to his side when he felt Enjolras start to relax and dose. “I’ll probably head out before you wake up tomorrow because I have a meeting but I’ll be back later in the day to help with your radio interview,” he said. Enjolras mumbled a reply and they fell asleep tucked into each other like that.

 

 

 

**RUE PLUMET DAILY**

**Young Upstart Politician Anti-Military?**

Victor Piere

A young politician by the name of Enjolras has gained infamy recently with his harsh criticism of the free college though military service program that is currently in place. Enjolras is a native of New York City and is most well known in his own area as a charming and brilliant young man. He rose in ranks no matter what government he was part of, as early as his sophomore year in high school. Throughout his high school years he was class secretary, vice president, and president. Most notably, Enjolras turned the homecoming court into a functioning student body and demolished his school’s use of the monoarchial terms after a short battle with the school board. (See the article from the June 5th, 2004 issue of RPD) This trend of leadership continued into his college years where he dominated his parli, congress, and policy debate programs and was extremely active in the leadership of all clubs he was part of. The controversial group, Les Amis de l’ABC, was created under Enjolras’ hand. He’s gone to do a great many things in local government and has revolutionized the system step by step.

However, as Enjolras has ambitiously reached for state power, he has found a footfall. Recently, a reply Enjolras had made to an apparent ex-teacher of his has sparked backlash for the politician. The original post boasted a picture of several soldiers with the words “Dear Entitled Generation: Here is your free college”. Enjolras replied, according to Facebook, within five minutes with a lengthy rebuttal that has become characteristic of his speeches saying:

“I will not join a war I did not start to defend politicians I do not care about to potentially achieve a death I do not deserve just on the off chance I might be able to pursue an education that I should be guaranteed. You are a high school teacher. I want you to look in the eyes of every single one of your students tomorrow and ask which ones don’t deserve an education, which ones should potentially die for their education, and which ones should pay so much for an education, that is guaranteed in almost every other first world country in the world, that they may never be out of debt for the rest of their lives. Not only do the first two options negate the last four years of the student’s life, they negate all the time and effort you spent on that student and the plethora of others that fall under the first two categories.”

The rant did not stop there. Two comments followed the post that were two supporters of the military education program, including the original poster, that stated neither one of them were eligible for service due to medical conditions, among which asthma was listed. Enjolras’ response was as such:

“You do realize that this only goes on to show how absurd this program is, right? Almost 13% of the population has asthma alone, much less every other medical problem that would deny service and typically non-neurotypicals and disabled people are more likely to need help paying for college, which your “catch all” solution does not provide.”

And still, there was yet another comment that suggested hard work and good grades were the best way to get into college to which Enjolras also had plenty to say:

“I graduated second in my class of eight hundred. I wrote over fifteen different essays to get into colleges and programs all over the world. I had nine recommendation letters, six of which were amazing letters from men and women that I loved and adored and whom I can only hope felt the same for me. Despite all of this, I got two scholarships totaling nine thousand dollars. You suggest students spend “hours and hours on essays” and that’s exactly what I did. There wasn’t an assignment that I ever had that wasn’t done with narrow minded focus.  within the week it was handed to me. I spent so much time on school work that I never got a job. Now my nine-thousand-dollar school work and my thirty-thousand-dollar tuition had a big difference and I had no savings to dip into. Don’t tell me hard work pays off in the end no matter what. Thank God I was privileged enough to have a large trust fund that put me through college but that isn’t the case for the vast majority of the population. Are you saying that because some people are born poorer than Bill Gates, they should have to risk life and limb to get the education that they’ve been striving and working for since childhood?”

Enjolras posted one more free standing comment which read:

“This generation isn’t entitled. I’m not in school anymore and I know that. Tuition has gone up in the years that I’ve been out and since you were in school—what, the 70s?—it has increased 300%. This is preposterous. Kids today are paying so much money that working 40 hours a week at a minimum wage job won’t even pay for rent, much less classes and books. Your generation has raised them to believe that the most important thing for them to do is get a college education and then your generation stops them at every turn. They can’t have financial help. They can’t have decent damn letters of recommendation (Yes, I’m looking at you Mrs. [Redacted]. You took three months to give me a three fourths page generic letter after two years in your classes and clubs. WTF? You’re an English teacher) They can’t have higher minimum wage. They can’t have decent paying jobs because your generation won’t leave the jobs! They can’t have paid internships. This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen and I hope next time you see a high school student, you ask them if they want to forego college, potentially be killed, or wind up in so much debt they won’t be able to pay it off.”

 The young man’s response has gone viral with teenagers praising him and adults scorning him but the most absurd thing is the fact that people are calling him anti-military. He’s not anti-military, he’s pro-college. That’s okay to be.

( _Note: The original post has been taken down after a number of Enjolras’ supporters voiced their support and thoughts on the subject. Enjolras never removed his own comment and the campaign has yet to comment on it._ )

 

[Combeferre Response Text](http://imgur.com/K74u9pR)


	6. Chapter 6

[Combeferre and R](http://imgur.com/XEZLmzn)

 

[Combeferre/Enj 1](http://imgur.com/K8Q1784)

[2](http://imgur.com/UiFCzCK)

[3](http://imgur.com/ptbRGqx)

[4](http://imgur.com/0zWR8Ve)

[5](http://imgur.com/6zD8KrH)

[6](http://imgur.com/mIJNX37)

 

Enjolras didn't remember much about Grantaire from high school. Mostly, he remembered a kid that slept walked through the halls and always managed to be in the art loft. He remembered dark circles under his eyes and the smell of weed and alcohol that followed him around like an ominous cloud. The kid was always dressed in dirty, ratty clothes and usually had dark sunglasses on to hide blood shot eyes or bruises that bloomed over thin bone. His hair was too long, too greasy, and too messy. If he happened to have a backpack, one strap was broken, the zippers didn't zip, and there were holes throughout it.

 

This Grantaire in front of him could not be the same man.

 

He was alive and kind and talked to everyone who passed by him simultaneously. He smelt like Calvin Klein and his eyes were a bright crystalline blue that shouldn't exist. His skin was healthy and blemish free, with the exception of a few minor scars that quietly whispered--rather than boasted--of a past life of hardship. He was wearing damn Westwood casual wear and it looked amazing on him which just wasn't fair while a pair of undoubtedly designer aviators hung from a breast pocket. His hair was sheared down into a stylish undercut that complimented those inky curls beautifully. Evidently, Grantaire's hair being clean made it shine blue under fake, expensive lighting. He had a leather messenger bag against his thigh and, when the man turned, Enjolras could see a slim, silver laptop and the upper spine of a thick book. 

 

This couldn't be Grantaire from high school.

 

"This is the guy?" Enjolras asked, turning to Combeferre who dropped his tablet from his face with a sigh.

 

He scrunched up his nose to fix his glasses and glanced at Grantaire. "Yes, Enj, I've already said. We went to high school with him. Even you couldn't have been so preoccupied you didn't notice him. Everyone noticed him. The joys of public high school. If you want to be ignored, everyone sees you..."

 

"And if you want people to see you, you get ignored," Enjolras finished, waving him off. "I just don't understand how  _Grantaire_ is going to make me popular to the American people. I mean, I was part of the reason he was so popular in high school!"

 

Combeferre raised a dubious eyebrow and only spared a 'you're shitting me' kind of glance before returning to his work. "What's his first name?"

 

"What?"

 

"If you made him popular, affected him so much, you should know his first name."

 

Enjolras scowled and glared ahead, unable to speak because he couldn't answer the question. This was going to be an interesting campaign.

Enjolras steeled his courage and took a deep breath before starting over to Grantaire. He got exactly a step before a bouncy almost-red-head was in his face, grinning far too broadly and offering his hand out, though it made the books in his arms slip and slide and then bite into his side in what looked like a painful manner when he tried to catch them by smashing them against his ribs.

“Mayor Enjolras, I can’t even begin to say what a huge honor it is to meet you. I’m only here because I heard you would be here. Not that I’m stalking you. Just weighing the pros versus the cons of coming. And you’re definitely a pro. In an out of office. I’m just so amazed by you. You’re such an inspiration to me. Your fight for change has been monumental in my life and seeing someone as young as you come from where you have and do what you do…it’s just amazing.”

Enjolras blinked slowly at the man in front of him, trying to comprehend the energy and newness rolling off of him.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Enjolras offered, biting down several smart comments. “I’m Pierre Enjolras. Please. Call me Enjolras.”

“Oh, no, I know. I know who you are. My name is Marius Pontmercy.”

“And mine’s Cosette,” a beautiful voice chimed in on Enjolras’ right.

The politician grinned and turned to her. “Darling, I was wondering if you were going to be at your own fundraiser,” he chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek and hug her gently. “Your design?” he asked, gesturing to her dress. “I like it regardless.”

“Oh, yeah, just something I threw together a few weeks ago for a show. Your friend, Bahorel, has been such a huge help. I never knew he had an eye for anything like this.”

“Oh, no, Bahorel loves fashion,” Enjolras assured with a grin.

Cosette looked over at Marius and smiled winningly before the smile softened considerably and she just smiled at him without trying to get anything from it. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. I should have known Enjolras would be busy. I just got excited after seeing him again. Who are you?” she asked, not unkindly.

Marius stared at her for a long time in silence. Enjolras cleared his throat and Cosette looked at Enjolras in uncertainty. “Oh. Yes. Sorry. Beautiful. Um. Marius. My name is Parius Montpercy. No. Marius. Marius Pontmercy…” His pale skin went seventeen shades of red and Cosette laughed that beautiful laugh of hers.

“What do you do, Marius?” she asked.

“Oh. Um. I’m new. To the city. Not this. Just. You know.” She smiled and Marius looked like he melted. Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m a politician. I hope to be. Soon.”

“Well, not with that public speaking you’re not,” Enjolras scoffed under his breath before a sharp heel was brought down on his toes.

“That’s exciting,” Cosette chirped. “How’d you get the invitation to the gala?” she asked.

Marius blanched again and Enjolras had to fight down a long sigh. “My, uh, grandfather is very well to do and he always was…he knew…and I just…you know…and here I am!” He made a flourish with his arm and would have sent a platter flying if Cosette hadn’t suddenly grabbed his wrist.

“Well, I’m very glad you have the family connections to be here,” she said with a smile, squeezing Marius’s hand before letting go. Smooth, Enjolras thought. “I’ll let you get back to Enjolras then. Say hi if you see me around,” she offered. “You, be nice,” she ordered Enjolras before leaning up to kiss his cheek again and then waving at Marius. She turned and was immediately swept into another conversation.

Enjolras watched her disappear into the crowd before turning back to Marius. “Anyway, we were talking…”

“That’s Cosette Blanc?”  Marius sighed. Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard his head started to hurt.

“Yes. Why did you come to a gala without knowing the first thing about what was happening at it?” Enjolras snapped. He felt Combeferre jab the corner of his tablet into the small of Enjolras’ back. It took a lot of effort for Enjolras not to snap at him too. Instead, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for the rest of this conversation.

“Well, when I heard who all was going to be here, I knew I just had to come too. I mean, you are such an inspiration and Mr. Blanc is an amazing person. I really wanted to see what his organization was up to. I didn’t realize until only recently that it was Ms. Blanc’s gala hosted by her father. Still. It’s just…she’s just…”

Enjolras withheld a groan as Pontmercy’s eyes fell back to othe direction Cosette had just gone. “Cosette is remarkable too. She in the fashion industry but uses her profits to run several non-profits across the world that specialize in a variety of things,” he explained as he tugged a hand through his hair.

“Does she need a translator? I’m fantastic with languages. Not that I’m bragging. I didn’t mean to brag. I just pick them up really easily…” Pontmercy rambled. Enjolras rolled his eyes and turned to look at Combeferre for guidance or help.

Instead, he found the man staring off in a very Pontmercy way at a young man who was just coming through the door with a small army of people around him. To Enjolras, he looked over rated.

To Combeferre, he looked perfect. Soft brown curls that tumbled into his face and big blue eyes and a distinctly Spanish laugh and a strange but impeccable suit of bright blue with the most ridiculous socks under his too short pants and bright brown shoes. God, Combeferre adored him already. The man remembered to pull his jaws together before he shyly looked away and then right back at the man and his entourage that seemed to be thinning as they found others they needed to talk to. When there were only a few left—two that were certainly security detail—Combeferre made his way over. He grabbed two flutes of champagne on his way.

“Hi, Combeferre,” he greeted. “What brings you over to Mr. Blanc’s gala?” he asked, passing a flute over and then holding out his hand to the man and grinning charmingly.

The man raised a surprised eyebrow and took the champagne with a nod of thanks. “My name’s Courfeyrac. I’m an actor. I had an invitation as a thank you from Ms. Blanc for modeling a few of her designs last season.”

“She thanked you by inviting you to a donation for her company?” Combeferre asked with a confused smile.

“She’s a very bright business woman,” Courfeyrac conceded with his own grin. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a campaign manager. My boss, Enjolras, is fantastic friends with…”

“You work for Mayor Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked in genuine surprise and excitement.

Combeferre frowned, brows drawing together. “Uh, well, yes. You know him?”

“Oh my God, do you? Can you introduce us?”

“He’s my best friend…” Combeferre studied the other man before internally sighing. Another one lost to Enjolras’ hair and hips. “If you’d so like to meet him, I can certainly arrange it,” he said with a put on smile.

“I love his policies and I’ve been itching to meet him in real life for so long but my schedule just got really busy and I ended up out of country to shoot a TV show so I was there for months on end and then I came back to discover that he’s not even in the city anymore, he’s off starting a campaign for senate!”

“Wait what?” Combeferre asked, completely dumbfounded and so in love his chest ached. This was how it ended. Not in fire. Not in ice. But in dimples as deep as the sea and eyes as bright as the sun. This was so bad.

“Yeah, I got back a few months ago and he was just gone. Though I guess that was probably your doing. So could you?” Courfeyrac continued to bubble gleefully.

“What?”

“Introduce me. I mean, that’s the point of these galas right? To introduce people?”

“I think the point is to raise money for whomever is hosting said gala,” Combeferre corrected absently.

“Yeah, whatever,” Courfeyrac answered, waving the answer off before taking a step closer and grabbing Combeferre’s hand. God, his skin matched so well with Combeferre’s own. They’d be so gorgeous together.

Combeferre glanced at Enjolras who was looking everyone but at Marius—particularly he was looking at Grantaire—and he sighed. “Yeah, sure, you can meet another up and comer.”

“Oh, great. My father wanted me to go into politics or law but I ended up going out of country for uni and, well, being so far away, I got to make my own decisions. I went into theater and now…here I am!” he said, with a much more controlled flourish than Marius had previously attempted. “I just happened to stay in the habit of keeping up with all the drama. I mean, I’m the drama major but the law school had all the juicy bits,” he laughed. Combeferre was so far gone.

“No! There is no such thing as fiscally conservative and socially liberal! If you’re socially liberal, you will always put people over money. Always. Don’t give me any of this,” Enjolras snapped just as Combeferre and Courfeyrac came up.

“What’s the better option then? Because, as far as I can tell, equality at the expense of safety is as good as it gets for a balanced government and society,” Marius snapped back. Combeferre was impressed. Most people didn’t stand up to Enjolras. As least not young, up and comers.

“True equality and accountability for the government to do their job not at the expense of their people,” the manager said instead. Marius blanched and seemed not to have a response.

“I was just about to say that!” Courfeyrac said excitedly, holding onto Combeferre’s arm and tugging him down slightly in his excitement. Combeferre grinned bigger than Enjolras remembers from recent memory.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the blond said instead as he turned to the new comer.

“Oh, I’m Courfeyrac. I’m an actor,” he said with a wide grin. “And a huge fan. I can’t even tell you. The arguments you brought up with the Education bill…” He mimed an explosion by his head. Enjolras was about to interrupt but then Courfeyrac continued. “However, I don’t think it should have come at the expense of early education. Like, as someone with a debilitating lisp and shyness, my pre-kinder years were probably the most important of my school career.”

Enjolras eyes widened and Combeferre knew that look. He sighed and braced himself. “I know! That was the fucking republicans. Christ, I argued against that so hard but it was the only thing they wouldn’t drop. Dammit, I’m so fucking upset about that.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who brought it up,” Marius pointed out, slightly bitterly.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras both rounded on him and Combeferre had to bite down a grin and, equally, a curse on Marius’ behalf. Poor kid.

“That’s not how politics works,” Courfeyrac insisted.

“Before these even get debated for the public eye, I have to figure out what’s going to actually be discussed and passed. If there’s one thing for those fucking assholes to get their talons into, they’ll rip it out of my bill and demand it be tabled until that is solved.”

“So you have to go in first and figure out what all they want to change and fix that before you introduce the bill,” Courfeyrac added.

“So, yes, I introduced it with my bill but the republicans forced it into my darling.”

“Your darling?” Combeferre asked with a raised brow because Marius needed a grounder right now.

“Oh, shut up. I worked damn hard on that bill and then the republicans gave it a face tattoo before sending it into the world.” He pouted out his lower lip in the exact same way he had been since they were five and Combeferre shook his head.

“Have you approached Grantaire yet?” Combeferre asked instead and Courfeyrac lit up beside him.

“Oh my God, you know R?!” he asked excitedly.

“Kind of…” Combeferre said, glancing at Enjolras who was already a million miles away.

“Why? Do you?” the blond asked, finally turning from Marius all together.

“Well, yeah, he helped me a lot when I first moved here and still needed to learn the colloquialism of English,” Courfeyrac said with a nod. “How do you know him?”

“We went to high school together.”

“No shit?! That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. What was in the water down there, right?”

Combeferre’s heart melted at the stupid phrase and Courfeyrac’s grin and the way he looked at all three of them for a reaction. Enjolras thought maybe he could be sick. He shook his head and glanced at Grantaire before taking a deep breath and moving across the room to the other man.

He was just about to open his mouth to call out a greeting when a very tall, very muscular, very intimidating woman was suddenly blocking his path. She was dressed in a black, trimmed dress with a modest slit up the side and a few expensive looking pieces of jewelry but the earpiece in her ear and the way she held her arms over her chest suggested far more than simply a date to a function.

“And what do you think you’re doing, striding up to M. Grantaire like that?” she asked in a very put on proper accent.

“I’m propositioning him,” Enjolras answered without missing a beat, crossing his arms over his own chest. With the absurd six inch heels she was wearing, the girl was taller than Enjolras. It was uncomfortable. Maybe Combeferre got his way so much because he just towered over other people.

“’Fraid not, lover boy,” she answered with a snort.

Grantaire watched from a few people over, ignoring whatever asinine conversation he was supposed to be part of. He’d recognized Enjolras through everything. In the dark, in different times, homeless on the side of the road. He spent enough damn time staring at him.

Enjolras looked good. He always looked good. But now, he was just…damn. Tailored suits had always been good on him. With the most feminine hips he’d ever seen on a man, normal suits didn’t accent his body properly but as soon as the waist was pinched in, Enjolras was beautiful. He was in a brown tweed looking suit with a matching vest and tight red plaid on white shirt with a nice, bright red tie with some pattern on it that complemented the accent color in the tweed. Who dressed this man? That look shouldn’t work but it fucking did. Dammit.

He quickly excused himself and made his way over to the two bickering power houses. “There’s enough of me to go around,” he promised with a slight laugh. “Ep, why don’t you go get yourself a drink while Gav’s not around to see?” He grinned and winked at her distaste before turning to Enjolras. “Monsieur,” he greeted with a nod.

“Monsieur Grantaire,” Enjolras answered. That voice. Christ. He tried to find some memory in the man’s face but he’d changed so much since high school that Enjolras was sure it was a lost cause.

“Monsieur Combeferre told me you require my assistance with your campaign,” Grantaire tried.

Enjolras reddened and he looked away to glare at his best friend. “I don’t _require_ anything. He just believes the services you offer would make me more appealing to the general public.”

Grantaire gave a fake nod of understanding. “Well, if I’m, in fact, not required in your endeavors, I’m sure I can find a client who would be more in need of my services.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said it word for word.”

Enjolras sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, alright, fine. I need your help. I need you to…like…make a presence or something. Or fix mine.”

Grantaire smirked. “You need me to make you popular.”

“I need you to win me the popular vote.”

“You need me to make you popular.” Grantaire laughed and turned in a full circle quickly and gracefully. Bastard had probably taken dance lessons since prom. “Oh my God, this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t wait. This is going to be so much fun.”

Enjolras sighed and glared at Grantaire. “What do I do?”

“Well, firstly, you can come back to the hotel with me after this and we can start some preliminary tactics. We can overhaul your social media sites too.”

“I have a social media guru,” Enjolras objected quickly.

“Then bring him along. Is he here?” Grantaire asked, looking around.

“No, he’s working with a friend,” Enjolras said.

“Somewhere with wifi? We can just skype him.”

There was no way out of this. “Fine. I’ll have to text him.”

“Bring tall dark and gorgeous with you!” Grantaire called as Enjolras turned to walk back to Combeferre.

“Sorry, but you’re about five minutes too late. I believe he’s fallen in love with an actor.”

“Really? I would have never seen that.” Grantaire made an impressed face before grinning and shaking his head. “Too bad. It’s room 1832 in DeBac down the road.”

“I know it,” Enjolras said with a nod. “I’ll see you there.”

“Wait, Apollo, let me give you my number so you can text me before you head over.”

Enjolras paused and looked at Grantaire with a quirked eyebrow. “You used to call me that in high school”

“I remember. Are you still vehemently opposed to it?”

“Probably.”

“Then I still love it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m necessary.” Grantaire crossed over to Enjolras and grabbed his phone, quickly putting in his number before handing it back. “Have fun with the actor.”

He smirked at Enjolras and patted his chest before turning and striding right into another conversation.

Did he have to tailor his pants to fit directly to his ass?


	7. Chapter 7

[Cosette's Invite](http://imgur.com/XypFVpH)

 

“Okay, first of all,” Grantaire said after hours of silent browsing on his laptop, “you’re a fucking wreck. I mean, you’re all over. You don’t have a rallying cry.”

“What does that even mean?” Enjolras asked, turning away from his conversation with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. And by conversation, he meant he passively listened to Courfeyrac and Combeferre gush over each other while he paid more attention to the sounds Grantaire was making and the looks Eponine was cutting him while she got ready for bed.

“I mean, look at any politician, yeah? ‘Make America Great Again’ ‘Hope and Change’ ‘A Future to Believe In’ Anything Sanders says,” Grantaire explained, sitting up and resting the laptop on his knee.

Enjolras eyed it dubiously and crossed his arms over his chest. “What would you suggest for me then?”

“I don’t know. We only just met again. But, listen, you need something to hit them over the head with again and again. What does your platform stand for?”

“Equality,” Enjolras answered immediately. “Reform. The people.”

“Power for the people? Through the power of the government?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Doesn’t sound right. They’re going to get a mixed message about what you’re going to do.”

“But that could be good,” Courfeyrac said suddenly, shifting to the other side of Combeferre on the small couch they were sharing. He leaned against the arm of it to strain forward as far as he could. “If reluctant Republicans or conservative Liberals think he’s going to be giving more power to the people, they’ll vote for him. The rest of his demographic will vote for him because he’s making the government use its power to empower the people.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and held an arm out to Courfeyrac. “Exactly.”

“And, often times, people will try to warp their views to match what they’re favored politician is saying,” Combeferre added.

“Yeah, but that’s assuming they like him to begin with. We have to fix his rep first,” Courfeyrac said, turning back to Combeferre and grinning. Combeferre let out an involuntary sigh and bit his lip.

Enjolras snorted and looked at Grantaire. “That’s why you’re here. To fix my rep.”

Grantaire sent an unimpressed stare at Enjolras. “Okay, so power to the people. What can we do with that?”

“Enjolras: A power in the government to empower the people,” Courfeyrac said.

“That’d be nice for ads but on social media, he can’t speak in third person.”

“It’s time to return the power,” Combeferre suggested.

Grantaire contemplated it and made a suggestive face before laying back to look at Eponine upside down. “Hey, Ep, do you think it’s time to give the power back to the people?”

Eponine glared at Enjolras and raised an eyebrow. “I think he’s a lot of fucking hot air,” she said steely.

“Him aside, what do you think of the slogan?”

“I think it’s a slogan and it sounds like every other failed Liberal before him,” she answered before going back to her tablet.

Grantaire sighed and sat back up. “I think it’s a good starting place. We can always introduce another one later if we think of it.”

Enjolras nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Now what about my social media?”

“It’s too much. You’re too personal. It’s nice that you’re a person and you’re using the same Facebook you have been since you were a teenager but it’s not focused.”

“People like to see that I’m human. I’ve been called a robot before. I have to be real online.”

“That seems like a contradiction,” Courfeyrac snorted at the same time Grantaire mumbled something about ‘marble’.

“God. What do I do to fix it?” Enjolras asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Courfeyrac erupted in giggles. He turned to Combeferre who was smiling as well and shared a conversation, of which Enjolras heard ‘just like you said’.

“You need to clean it up. Get rid of things that aren’t strictly necessary for the campaign. You can create a hidden profile to be friends with family and whatever. This is your page and already has millions of hits so you can’t abandon it,” Grantaire explained. “But it does need a fresh coat. Immediately.”

“That’s it?”

“You need to engage on Twitter more. But not without talking to me first. We can sit down together and go through tweets you’ve accumulated during the day. You will not be answering negative tweets at all without me. If you’d like to agree with someone or wish them a happy birthday or something without me present, that’s fine.”

“I hate Twitter,” Enjolras sulked.

“Because 160 characters isn’t enough for his raging retorts and speeches,” Combeferre clarified with a grin.

“Listen, you’re on my side here, Ferre,” Enjolras snapped as threateningly as he could while also being exhausted.

“I am. That’s why I’m trying to help you as much as I can,” Combeferre answered with a smile. He wrapped an arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders and tugged him closer. The actor curled up against his side and watched the room through half closed eyes. Enjolras was envious. Not because he was in Combeferre’s embrace but because it looked like he was going to get to doze off.

“Is that all?” he asked again, looking away from the disgusting newly infatuated others.

“Instagram. Probably don’t post old arrest photos.”

“What? Why not? I’m being forthcoming about my past,” Enjolras argued.

“You’re giving your opponents a chance to smear you for anyone on the fence about you.”

“Who even is your opponent?” Courfeyrac mumbled against Combeferre’s chest.

“A nobody with no political experience but a lot of connections. You wouldn’t know him,” Enjolras answered.

“His name is Montparnasse.”

Eponine froze on the bed and Grantaire’s stare bore into the other two men. “What did you just say?”

“I said the opponent’s name is Montparnasse. He’s young. Only a year or so older than Enjolras, if that. Why?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eponine breathed, running her fingers through her hair.

“What?” Combeferre asked, concern plain on his face.

“You can’t let him know you’re working with us,” Grantaire stressed.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Enjolras demanded.

“We used to know him,” Grantaire said quickly. “He’s got dirt on us and he’ll use anything he can against you.”

“What kind of dirt?” Combeferre asked seriously. His hand stilled in Courfeyrac’s curls, though the sleeping man wouldn’t have noticed.

“Nothing. I can handle it,” Grantaire answered quickly, waving it away. “Combeferre, maybe you should take Courf home,” he suggested as he stood up and began to pack away his things. “Enj, are you staying around here tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, I live a few miles away. But I’m sure I could grab a room here…”

“No you can’t. It’s sold out. As it was, we had to fight to keep our reservation. Some congressman claimed he needed it more than us,” Eponine answered.

“Asshole,” Courfeyrac muttered from where Combeferre was helping him to his feet and gathering up the other’s things.

“We’re gonna head out,” Combeferre said with a small smile as Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around his waist. “And probably have a long rant about congressmen now.”

“Well, sir, you just snarked yourself one,” Courfeyrac said with a wide grin. Enjolras opened the door to let them out and then allowed himself to lean on it when they were gone. HE rubbed his eyes until he saw spots and slid to the ground.

“You don’t look so good, Apollo,” Grantaire said. It was silent in the room until there was a rustle of bed sheets and the padding of feet. Then a body next to Enjolras’. Not close enough to touch but close enough that Enjolras could tell he was sitting there. “I promise I’ll handle my own issues,” Grantaire murmured. There was an awkward pause before the guru’s hand fell back to the ground.

“It’s not that,” Enjolras finally said, rubbing his eyes again but not uncovering his face. “I’m just so tired and I’m tired of having to play any kind of game to get what I want.”

“Sounds like high school,” Grantaire snorted.

“I just want to help people. And no one’s letting me do that.”

“That’s a change,” Eponine shot out. Enjolras ignored her while Grantaire glared at her.

“Do you need to stay here?” he asked, turning back to the blond.

“Where the fuck is he going to sleep?” Eponine demanded from her nest in her bed. Obviously not there.

“I don’t know. I can sleep on the floor,” Grantaire insisted. He started to reach out for Enjolras’ shoulder again but fell short half way there again as well.

“No, it’s okay. I need to go home. I don’t think Ferre has his building key on him so I’ll have to buzz him in,” Enjolras sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face and stood up. “Thank you for  your help. When should we meet again?”

“Tomorrow over coffee?” Grantaire suggested and Eponine snorted derisively behind them.

“Where?”

“Uh…do you have a undisclosed place you like to go to?”

“There’s a little café down from our apartment. We can go there. There’s a backroom that I have a key for. I hold rallies there sometimes. Meetings.”

“Doesn’t seem undisclosed.”

“No, but it locks and Musichetta would never let anyone steal security feed from that room. As it is, she destroys what she doesn’t have to use.”

“Musichetta? Like, Musain Musichetta?” Grantaire clarified incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s the place,” Enjolras agreed with a confused look. “Why?”

“Joly and Boss and I are best friends.”

“Thanks,” Eponine drawled sarcastically from behind him.

“No way. Small world,” Enjolras mused. He looked around and started to reach for the door.

Grantaire said the first thing that came to mind to make him stay. “How did you meet them?”

“Oh, um…Joly and Ferre were in some med classes together freshmen year and Boss lived in the dorm next to mine so I saw him a lot when he’d come over to warn me about a potential fire, ask me to go grab his mail so he didn’t have to take the stairs on crutches, or borrow something he’d lost or broken. We actually didn’t know all four of us were hanging out until Ferre was leaving my room one morning at the same time Joly was leaving Boss’ and both were so loud in their laughter and conversation following that Boss and I woke up and went to see what the hell was going on and then we all had a good laugh.”

Enjolras smiled fondly on the memory but Grantaire suddenly felt sick. Fuck, he’d forgotten Mr. Perfect and Mr. Perfect 2.0 were a thing.

“Go home, Enjolras,” Eponine demanded, voice hard as rock.

The blond took a deep breath and straightened out his suit before nodding at them and offering a small, tired smile to Grantaire. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Around nine?”

“Better be more decisive than that on the trail,” Grantaire chuckled.

“I don’t want to take your own free will from you,” Enjolras defended.

“What makes you think your words alone could take away my God-given right?” Grantaire hummed.

Enjolras’ perfect lips quirked into a lopsided grin and he nodded. “Night, Grantaire.”

“Night Enjolras.”

The door was shut and five seconds after Grantaire had clicked the lock into place, Eponine was onto him. “You’re sleep on the _ground_?” she demanded. “Christ, R, he has the same hold over you that he always had.”

“No he doesn’t. I was just being nice. I didn’t want him having to leave. He looked awful, Ep. You had to have seen that.”

“It’s not like he was having to take a train across the country! All he had to do was go downstairs and call a cab. Not regulate you to the floor.” Eponine shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.  “You’re unbelievable.”

“Why are you so worked up about this? He’s with Combeferre. It doesn’t matter.”

She stared at him before shaking her head. “Oh my God. You’re the smartest man I know and you’re an idiot. Combeferre is getting into Courf’s pants tonight. If you couldn’t see that, you’re blind.”

Grantaire blushed and started getting undressed. “You heard him. You’ve seen them together. I’m surprised Enjolras even stayed as long as he did. They’re never without each other.”

Eponine rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at Grantaire. “You wanna know why I’m pissed? Because you deserve better, R. There’s so much better out there for you that isn’t a pretentious white boy who’s spent so much time with his black friend that he thinks he has the right to speak for minorities.”

“Ep, all he’s doing is helping. I don’t think he’s doing it based on race.”

“That’s an issue! You can’t just blindly paint everyone who needs help the same way and then hope they all look the same afterwards,” she argued.

“Do you want me to text Jehan? He can wake up Gav and we can Skype him,” Grantaire offered as he moved to sit by Eponine, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her head softly.

“No, I’m going home tomorrow and poor Jehan probably took hours to get him into bed. I wouldn’t want to undo all of that. I talked to him before the gala.” Eponine leaned back into Grantaire and sighed. “I’m exhausted.”

“Then go to sleep,” Grantaire encouraged. “I’ll even stay with you. Like we used to.”

“No, you’re a fucking furnace. Don’t ever sleep with me,” Eponine laughed softly, elbowing Grantaire in the ribs.

Grantaire let out an undignified sound and disentangled their bodies before continuing to get ready for bed himself. “I’m going to stay up here.”

“I assumed. Where are you going to stay?” Eponine asked as she laid down.

“Joly and Boss live around here. They haven’t moved in with Musichetta yet so there should be room,” Grantaire said. “If not, I have Bahorel up here too but I don’t know if he’s actually here or out working.”

“What did you say he does?” Eponine asked.

“He’s a for-hire body guard. Does a little bit of fighting on the side, though. I’ve recommended a few of my clients in his direction so he owes me.”

Eponine shook her head and turned on her side. “Just keep me updated, alright? I can still do things like that from home,” she reminded through a yawn.

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire agreed, turning of his lamp and continuing on in the dark. He didn’t need light. He had the sun god etched into the back of his eyelids again. Fuck, into the front of his retinas at this point, honestly.

 

[TBT on Insta](http://imgur.com/8RT4g7R) 


	8. Chapter 8

[Steal the Look](http://imgur.com/XZVOBmT)

 

[Where's Ferre?](http://imgur.com/xuqP2i9)

 

[R's Advice](http://imgur.com/q23dCMs)                            

 

[US Weekly Tweet](http://imgur.com/SX4NXo8)

[And Picture](http://imgur.com/8gWH1uq)

 

[GOP Teens Tweet](http://imgur.com/SUcZFg7)

 

[Aaron Tweet](http://imgur.com/81QpqMQ)

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 “Repeat after me,” Grantaire instructed, continually pulling Enjolras’ face back to his to keep their eyes locked. “I will not get pissed off if someone brings up that I’m getting help with my campaign.”

“I’m not repeating all of that. Trust that I will keep my temper in check,” Enjolras sighed impatiently. He fixed his outfit for about the hundredth time since they’d arrived at the building.

“I don’t trust that. I don’t trust that at all.” Grantaire shook his head and fixed Enjolras’ tie for him.

Enjolras rested his hands over Grantaire’s shoulders and stared at him. “Trust me, then, to do what’s best for the campaign,” he instructed.

Grantaire glared weakly at him before sighing. “Fine. I can’t be in there with you but I know Combeferre will find some way to text Courfeyrac through the entire thing so you better behave yourself. We’ve worked too hard for you to blow it now.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with Montparnasse being here?” Enjolras asked.

“So long as you keep him occupied, it won’t be an issue,” Grantaire assured with a nod. “Just worry about yourself and I’ll worry about this.”

Enjolras nodded and took a deep breath. “Christ, I hate these things. It doesn’t help anyone.”

“This is all part of the game, Apollo. We’ll get you helping other people as soon as possible.” Grantaire smiled encouragingly and patted Enjolras’ shoulder. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

“Oh please don’t start on new names,” Enjolras groaned.

Grantaire laughed and turned Enjolras away, pushing him towards the door. “Remember to keep your cool, alright? See you on the other side. Tear Montparnasse apart for us, okay?”

Enjolras nodded and visibly steeled himself before heading into the next room. Grantaire let out a long breath and tugged a hand through his hair.

“You look like a parent sending their kid to school for the first time,” Bahorel laughed, clapping a heavy hand down on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“It’s just an hour long meeting,” Courfeyrac added once the boxer had convinced Grantaire to come sit down. “And then there’ll be a dance and anything he said in the room will be forgotten as soon as people see how awful his dancing is,” he laughed.

“He’s not a bad dancer,” Grantaire defended. “He’s the one who taught me how to dance.”

“He can dance traditional,” Bahorel agreed. “But ask his hips to move and the guy’s lost.” He laughed and grabbed for the drink he’d been drinking all night. Grantaire might have imagined the whiff of alcohol he caught but it was unlikely.

“I’m sure this party won’t involve grinding,” Cosette pointed out.

“I mean, we could hope it does,” Courfeyrac said. “Never give up on that hope.”

Cosette laughed and shook her head before going back to her phone. “Are you doing things with Little Lark?” Bahorel asked.

“Yeah. Papa thinks I should start off large and ween back production if it doesn’t take but I don’t want to do that. I want to start small and keep it close knit. If I have to expand, then I will. At least then I’m creating jobs instead of destroying them,” she explained. “I’m looking at distributors right now and trying to make a pro-con list.”

Everyone got involved in the conversation. Bahorel and Cosette discussed designs for almost half an hour straight while Courfeyrac talked about distributon and potential models. Grantaire, however, kept his eyes on the other door. He couldn't get out awful visions of Enjolras messing up. He wasn't worried for himself or his job but for what would happen to Enjolras' own psyche state should he lose while he was this far ahead in the game. Grantaire was worried about Eponine and Gavroche and Montparnasse. He was worried a congress with Montparnasse in it.  He was worried about what might be dug up about Enjolras. He was worried what Enjolras hadn't told him already. He was worried about media reaction.

So for the full hour-and-a-half that the meeting took Grantaire sat almost completely silent the entire time waiting and waiting and waiting. The others tried to involve him in conversation and he reacted occasionally but not nearly enough to loosen their worry. When doors finally opened Grantaire where's the first one over. Similarly Enjolras was the first one out. The man had a huge grin across his face and in the excitement couldn't help but pull Grantaire into a tight hug. Reciprocating, Grantaire hugged him back for a moment before pulling away.

"How'd it go?" he asked, as if he didn't already know the answer based on the pure joy radiating from Enjolras.

"This is it, R! I know it. I can feel it. This time...this is going to be what helps. I can finally win and start helping people."

"The world needs more people like you," Grantaire sighed.

"Then we'd need more yous too. Think the world could handle even more of us?"

Grantaire laughed and shrugged. He was just about to say something else when Courfeyrac appeared and pulled Enjolras into his own hug. Well...Grantaire said hug--it was more of a koala grip. Enjolras shot him an apologetic look before allowing himself to be swept away into the crowd.

As Cosette had suggested there was a very formal party following the meeting. That kind of party where the finger foods probably shouldn't have ever touched fingers like Grantaire's and we're probably more expensive per ounce than everything in his apartment. Also, apparently, a party that had awful alcohol. If Grantaire was going to watch Enjolras wine and dine an entire room full of constituents, he was going to have to be a lot drunker than whatever it is Fruity Tooty champagne was going to get him. He found himself seeking out Bahorel's flask and helping himself to as much as he wanted. He had definitely not imagine the alcohol. Bahorel certainly knew how to accent the water he was supposed to bring in.

Cosette was on the dance floor with Marius having the time of their lives it seems like. Courfeyrac and Combeferre had disappeared and Grantaire was thankful for it because he had no idea what they were doing and he didn't want to know. Enjolras is lost in the crowd and Grantaire knew he wasn't important enough to draw Enjolras away from work anyway. So Grantaire sat by himself with Bahorel's flask and watched the party unfold without him. However, after fifteen excruciating minutes of absolute, total, and complete boredom sans worry Grantaire saw a face he knew.

Jehan had been in a few of the arts classes Grantaire had taken and they had become fast friends. Jehan it was a poet who was capable of being quite ferocious when they wanted to be. Their love of writing and their love of calling people out combined excellently to make them an amazing journalist. They were definitely the kind of person you wanted to remain on their good side. Grantaire knew he had to get Enjolras onto Jehan's good side as soon as possible. Besides he was bored as fucking hell and needed someone to talk to.

Grantaire cross the room to go stand in front of Jehan.  It took the young writer a little while to notice--always lost in a story or stanza--before a wide grin stretched across their face.

"R! I was beginning to think I would never get to see you again. What have you been up to? Who are you here with? I'm never 100 percent certain it's you, but I read things in the papers or in the magazines and I just say to myself 'I bet that's R'."

Grantaire laughed and nodded.  "Yeah, I've been keeping myself pretty busy recently. I’m actually working with...." Grantaire looked around conspiratorially. "You know I can't tell you that."

Jehan visibly deflated. "Come on. You know you're going to eventually ask to run some expose or cover story or fake story or something on them and I'll find out then.  Just tell me."

"You can wait until I inevitably ask you to run whatever story I need you to run."

"You're using and abusing me, Gorgeous," Jehan sighed.

"If I know anyone else who could illegally obtain information and then cute their way out of being arrested I would use them as well but you have a very unique skill set that I need. Often."

Jehan laughed.  "You flatterer. I'll keep my phone on for you."

Grantaire looked out at the dance floor. Finally, he spotted that head of bright blonde curls. "Have you written about 'future senator Enjolras'?" he asked casually.

"How dare you not read everything your friend publishes," they teased as they bumped their shoulder with Grantaire's.

"If my friend would publish in one newspaper or magazine then I would. However, my friend publishes in about 75 different versions of everything out there."

"Yeah, alright, fair enough.  But yes I have written about him. Primarily how he's not even running for Senate he's running for congress. That's what irritates me the most about election season. No one can ever get anything right. Journalists lose their damn minds trying to be the first to break a story. It's one thing to do that with celebrities and potentially ruin a career but these are the people who lead our nation. You'd think they could be a little more finicky about what they publish in those instances."

"Ain't that the damn truth," Grantaire sighed.

Jehan sighed as well before turning to Grantaire and holding out their hand. “I’ll see you around. Try to keep your celebrities out of trouble? Or, I guess, don’t. It makes me famous.” They grinned and Grantaire pulled Jehan forward when he went to shake their hand, wrapping his other arm around their back.

“Keep doing you, Poet,” he said as he released Jehan.

“I plan too, Artist.” They grinned and waved before heading off through the crowd.

Much to Grantaire’s surprise, Enjolras was suddenly by him. “Who was that?” he asked, watching Jehan weave through the crowd.

“Oh, Jehan. We took a few classes together in college. He’s a reporter.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “Has he ever written for the Times?”

“Yeah, I think so. He does a few book critiques in there.”

“I think I’ve read some of his work then.”

“Where have you been?” Grantaire asked, not willing to get into a discussion about Jehan and his own connection to someone who potentially might have bad mouthed Enjolras in a national newspaper.

“Talking. You know how all of these people are. They want your attention and they want it now. Makes them feel special or something.”

Grantaire couldn’t find it in him to berate people who wanted Enjolras’ attention. It’d be very hypocritical. “How’d you manage to find your way to little old me then?” he asked with a smile.

“Oh, well, I was…” Enjolras moved his hand over the back of his neck and looked around. “I was just wondering if…well, I mean, if you wanted to…maybe we could dance?” he suggested.

Grantaire’s lips quirked into a small grin. “Are you paying me back for prom, Apollo?”

“Have you learned to dance since then?” Enjolras answered almost immediately. Being a dick he could do.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can dance better now,” Grantaire assured with a nod. He took Enjolras’ hand and let the blond lead him onto the floor. At least it was a slow song. Grantaire could dance just about anything. Courfeyrac had taught him how to salsa and tango. Remembering that, Grantaire imagined that he knew why CO2 had disappeared. Even Combeferre—especially Combeferre?—wouldn’t be able to resist the absolute charm and sexuality that radiated off the Spanish actor when he got to dance what he loved. But this was slow. Grantaire could do slow.

He leaned against Enjolras’ chest as they began to move, letting Enjolras guide him where they needed to be. He had never really believed in the bullshit about feeling a partner’s energy and being able to move with them. But, damn, Grantaire was feeling it now. He moved with Enjolras effortlessly, sweeping across the floor and then back again.

Enjolras laughed at one point before spinning Grantaire and then pulling him back in to the mandatory ooohs of the people around them. “You look good,” he murmured near Grantaire’s ear.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Monsieur Enjolras,” Grantaire answered with a grin, not that Enjolras could see it.

“I mean beyond what you’re wearing. You just…” Enjolras blushed and shrugged. “You look nice.”

“Thanks, Apollo. Means a lot,” Grantaire mumbled. They continued to dance together and just generally enjoy each other’s company for a few more songs.

Then Combeferre had to ruin it. He stepped up in the middle of song three and pulled Enjolras aside by his upper arm and whispered in his ear.

All the happiness that had flooded Enjolras’ face when he’d come from the meeting drained right out and he looked up at his friend before quickly leaving without a word to anyone else.

Grantaire looked around for an explanation and Combeferre was there to save the day. He held out a phone with a CNN page pulled up. Grantaire skimmed it before groaning aloud and running his hand down his face. Fucking cheating bastards.

 

**A Criminal in the Congress?**

**By Ashley Babet**

Updated 9:20 PM ET, Wed June 8, 2016

In a shocking turn of events, previously sealed records have been brought to the light. Kind of. A few hours ago, the criminal record of Pierre Enjolras, the young New York mayor running for Congress, was confirmed by the judge who’d resided over the case when Enjolras was 22 and in college at Harvard. Though Enjolras has never shied away from his record—which has been sealed since he was 23 years old—no official declarations have ever been made on the subject. Now, however, a very reputable judge—who has chosen to remain anonymous for now—has confirmed to cameras that Enjolras was arrested in early 2009 on counts of assault and battery and severe intent to harm. After a trial, Enjolras was found guilty of battery but wasn’t sentenced to any hard jail time because it was ruled a crime of passion and self-defense. The released case information was suspiciously sparse in details over what exactly transpired to suggest Enjolras was ever in danger.

CNN went to Harvard to look at records to help understand the case better and we did find archived newspapers that detailed the event to some degree. Enjolras had left a class with class vice-president (and his current campaign manager) Alexandre Combeferre. According to sources, the pair exited a law building ahead of the crowd. The area wasn’t densely populated. Mostly there were just students studying or heading to class early. There was a man that no student present recognized standing outside the building on the other side of a side walk. Here witness statements vary. Some suggest that Combeferre had started to approach the man, while others claim the man advanced on Combeferre and Enjolras. Everyone agreed that Enjolras launched himself at the man and began viciously attacking him. According to witnesses, the man did fight back but most agree that it was mostly passive and defensive. Campus police arrived shortly after to separate the men.

The I.D. of the victim is still unknown, as is Enjolras’ motivation behind what he did, and Combeferre’s role in the entire ordeal. Since the initial admission, the judge has remained quiet. Records are still sealed at this time. Perhaps Enjolras will open them to set the record straight. However, that raises many more questions about what else Enjolras has remained silent about from his past. Being held overnight for protests and disorderly conduct charges, both of which Enjolras has publicly owned up to in previous years (even immortalizing one such instance in a “Throw Back Thursday” on Instagram—yes before his campaign was taken over by the alternatively mysterious Simon Grantaire) don’t exactly stack up against a battery charge that almost put a man in the hospital.

CNN will continue to bring you thorough, researched information as this story becomes clearer.


	10. Chapter 10

When Grantaire walked into the room, Enjolras was curled up in the arm chair in the corner of the hotel room, drinking straight from a whisky bottle. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and moved over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not mad at you,” he offered weakly. Enjolras didn’t respond but to bring the bottle to his lips and then drop it back to the nest made of his hip, waist, and the chair on the other two sides. “I mean, a little bit of forewarning would have been nice….”

“It was for Combeferre,” Enjolras said suddenly, still staring blankly at a spot on the floor, near the draped duvet. Grantaire licked his lips and waited. “We were twenty-two and fresh faced still. The Amis were just getting started. We were happy. It was kind of a weird year. He had a boyfriend for the first time that either of us could remember and I was interning and making friends and we were _normal_ for the first time in our lives.

“We had a class together our second semester that year and we normally walked together because we shared an apartment. But he wasn’t there. He’d spent the night with his boyfriend. So I went to class a little bit late and expected him to already be there because he was always early. He wasn’t but, you know, I figured he was with his boyfriend, maybe he was just sleeping in or not sleeping but you get the gist.”

Grantaire nodded and ran his fingers over a crease in his pants leg. “Class starts and I just assume he’s not coming. Think maybe I should send him a congratulatory text or something.” Enjolras cleared his throat and took a long swig from the bottle. He was moving faster on it than Grantaire used to. “He stumbled in almost fifteen minutes late in old clothes, messed up, ratty, not what he was wearing the night before. He had his face turned away from me… And when he did finally have to straighten up and give me at least half of his face, I couldn’t tell cheek from jaw for the bruising. I had to give it to him. He did the cover up beautifully but there was a line across his nose and swelling on either side and he wasn’t wearing his glasses or looking at the board and I just… Fuck.”

He let out a breath and then covered his mouth with his hand. “I mighta honestly killed the man. I didn’t know who he was other than a few meals or drinks but he was waiting outside the building when we got out of class. God, Ferre didn’t even open his mouth once. And he was going to him. I just…lost my mind. I attacked him and I beat the shit out of him.  My knuckles were bloody and he was just… Fuck… They slapped an battery charge on me. Ferre didn’t want to say what had happened to him and I told him that was fine. He did anyway. Took away the threat of jail time. It was…” He swallowed and drew his knees in closer to his chest. “It wasn’t the best of times with us after that,” he muttered. “It was an uphill climb with everything we did. I thought that part of my life was over. I didn’t think it could come back. Ferre said the reports were hidden and all newspaper clippings destroyed.”

“Everything can come back during a campaign. Look, don’t worry about it. You’ve been making leaps and bounds, alright? This isn’t going to lose you votes. Not with what the next week holds.”

Enjolras shook his head and scoffed. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Combeferre. It’s not fair that you’re going to ask him to relive that to get me off this. It’s not fair he has to tell his story to save my ass again.”

“I wasn’t going to do that,” Grantaire assured. He stood up and reached for the bottle, grabbing it when Enjolras made no objection. “I told you, you impose the limits on this. We won’t do anything you don’t want to. Now come here and get out of those clothes. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning and slacks and a tie are the worst things to wake up in when you’re already in hell.” He set the bottle down on the window ledge and pulled Enjolras to him by his shoulders before just tugging him up and carrying him to the large bed. Enjolras collapsed back on it and stared at the ceiling.

“You are seriously pissed, aren’t you?” Grantaire asked as he moved to kneel on the bed by Enjolras’ side. He tugged the tie loose and then separate to slide from under Enjolras’ neck.

“In both meanings of the word, yes,” Enjolras confirmed.

Grantaire shook his head and unbuttoned Enjolras’ shirt, tugging him up again to slide the shirt off his arms. He was thankful Enjolras wasn’t in the habit of wearing white and requiring an undershirt. He had no idea how he would have managed to pull one off of him while holding him up.

Enjolras fell back against the bed and Grantaire was suddenly hit by how many people must have done this for Grantaire himself. Certainly not nearly as kindly but regardless. He scooted off the bed and pulled Enjolras’ shoes and socks off and then worked his pants down. How could the man manage to find such absurdly tight clothing and make them look classy?

Finally, he was able to shove Enjolras into the bed and cover him with the duvet—a rich gold that would have Enjolras crawling out of his skin in the morning. He was just about to walk away when Enjolras’ hand closed around his wrist.

“Will you stay?” the blond asked small-ly. Grantaire couldn’t remember a time that Enjolras had ever done anything small-ly.

Grantaire turned his hand to hold onto Enjolras’ wrist gently. “I will. Just let me tidy up here and make a few texts. Then I’ll be right back,” he promised. Enjolras nodded, beautiful blond curls bouncing and scrapping against the pillow. He dropped his hand, making a thunk against the bed frame and Grantaire waited a few seconds before grabbing the bottle and a few cartons and boxes of old takeout. He cleaned as much as he could via the moonlight and the street lights before heading down stairs and buying aspirin and a bottle of water. Not that Enjolras was pretentious enough not to drink from the tap but Grantaire didn’t trust Enjolras not to fling an open glass across the room in his sleep.

He went back the room and opened the aspirin and set the two bottles on the end table before searching through Enjolras’ clothes for his phone and plugging it in and making sure his laptop was out of any potential harm’s way. Afterwards, he stepped back into the living area, away from Enjolras, and quickly typed out a text.

[R/Jehan Texts](http://imgur.com/WRfxtHq)

 

After Grantaire was satisfied, he plugged his phone in and moved back to the bedroom, tugging off his shirt and kicking his shoes and slacks off before sliding into the bed and slowly wrapping his arm around Enjolras’ waist. In his sleep, the blond immediately grabbed onto him and held him tightly. Grantaire had to relax his hand when he felt Enjolras’ fingers working their way between his. The dark haired man let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

He had no worries of popping a boner right now. All of his worries were on the charges and Jehan writing the story right. He didn’t doubt Jehan’s abilities but he really, really needed this story done properly and thoroughly. There was no room for error. This was a make or break for Enjolras and Grantaire refused to lose this case.

Enjolras shifted back into him and Grantaire found his nose pressed against those wonderful blond curls. He let go of the tense breath he’d drawn in and let himself relax around the other, playing protector and keeper for once.

 


	11. Chapter 11

[Combeferre/R Text](http://imgur.com/rCEOryl) 

 

**A Criminal in Bed with Possible Congressman Montparnasse?**

**By Jehan P.**

Updated 7:32 AM ET, Wed June 10, 2016

In a story that was already very odd, something even odder has been revealed. From a source close to Pierre Enjolras and Alexandre Combeferre, the identity of Combeferre’s abusive ex-boyfriend has been revealed. That’s right, Combeferre was being abused, which is what lead to the assault on Enjolras’ part. The ex-boyfriend’s name is Jason Claquesous, which may not ring that much of a bell now but it should.

Jason Claquesous is engaged to Daniel Montparnasse—Enjolras’ opponent. The conflict of interest alone is enough to stop the conversation, especially when it becomes so obvious about how Montparnasse came to be in possession of the file information. It also raises legitimacy of the Montparnasse campaign and their legality. This is no way suggesting that because Claquesous is an abuser that Montparnasse is as well, nor is it blaming Montparnasse as a victim. This is to bring forth the criminal record of both Jason Claquesous and Daniel Montparnasse. If the Montparnasse campaign wishes to look at Enjolras’ criminal history, returning the favor is only fair. Attached below, you’ll find the (non-sealed) criminal records of both.

While you read them, ask yourself why the establishment was hiding open record and allowing sealed ones to be leaked. Then ask yourself if this is really the congressman you want representing you.

[Open File] [Download File]

 


	12. Chapter 12

[Amanda Tweet](http://imgur.com/d437zr8)

[And Image](http://imgur.com/zqr3Cc0)

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

[Combeferre Text 1](http://imgur.com/z8UROJd)

[2](http://imgur.com/470Z4ek) 

 

Combeferre knew logically that he should be better behaved than this. How long had he interned at various hospitals and seen how much damage could be done to a patient because of a loved one's inability to let go of the body being carted away? But, still, Combeferre clung to Courfeyrac's hand and the edge of the gurney as the nurses and doctors tried to pry him away.

"Sir, please, step away from the bed. We need to get him to surgery right now and you cannot follow," a stern nurse ordered, trying to pry Combeferre's fingers off the railing to little avail.

"Ferre, come on!" Grantaire said, grabbing his arm and tugging him away though Combeferre just shrugged out of his hold.

"Courf, come on, you've got to hang on, please," the taller man pleaded, gripping his hand tightly and ignoring the tears that were dripping onto his arms and Courfeyrac's body.

"Sir, we could help him if you'd just let go," the nurse repeated, trying to put herself between Combeferre and the bed. He forced his way back to Courfeyrac's side.

Finally, Enjolras came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Combeferre's shoulders to pull him away--impressive for him being strong enough to get Combeferre off to and tall enough to reach.

"Ferre, you've got to control yourself!" he shouted, shoving him against a wall and holding his body against Combeferre's to keep him still.

The OR doors banged behind them and settled to a close before Enjolras stepped away. To his credit, Combeferre didn't try to get into the OR. He just collapsed against the wall and buried his face in his hands. Enjolras sat down across from him and let out a long sigh.

"He's going to be fine, Ferre," he promised tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. "The doctors here are some of the best. They've probably seen worse than this in the past five minutes."

Grantaire came over and sat down next to them with his own soft sigh. He shifted closer to Combeferre and wrapped his arm around the man's shoulders, pulling Combeferre against his chest. Combeferre folded into him willingly.

"What if he's seriously hurt? What if something's happened to him and I lose him?" Combeferre whimpered against Grantaire's arm as he clung onto him.

"You're not going to lose him. He's going to be fine, Ferre. You got him where he needed to be, alright? And now all these doctors are going to do what they need to get him better, alright?"

Combeferre shook his head and pressed his face to Grantaire's chest. Grantaire smoothed his hand over the man's hair and rubbed his shoulder gently, eyes only on Combeferre. Enjolras watched in gratefulness and a little envy. That was his best friend and that was the man who used to only look at him. Now they'd removed Enjolras from the equation entirely. But at least Grantaire appeared to be helping.

The hours ticked by painfully slow. Enjolras went out and brought back food. Combeferre fell asleep with his head in Grantaire's lap. Grantaire fell asleep with his head against the wall. Enjolras worked on his phone until it died. An intern came out to tell him that Courfeyrac had made it through the surgery and he was going to be fine. Grantaire woke up. Combeferre stayed asleep. A doctor came out to tell them that Courfeyrac was in a room and they could wait for him to wake up there, though only his fiancé could stay past visiting hours. Enjolras and Grantaire glanced at each other and then Combeferre who was decidedly not wearing a ring.

“Sneaky bastard,” Grantaire laughed. He shook his head and let his hand rest in Combeferre’s hair.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Because they’re not actually engaged. If Combeferre was there when the ambulance pulled up, he’d have to say he was his fiancé to get into it with him. I’ve had to do it with a few of my low level celebrities when they OD,” Grantaire explained with a shrug.

“Why?”

“Helps me make sure I’ve got control over the situation and I can keep everyone else out.” Grantaire smiled down at Combeferre and brushed his fingers through his hair softly. “He’s smart and strong and Courf is lucky to have him,” he murmured.

Enjolras hummed his agreement and tilted his head back. “You’re not so bad yourself, y’know?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Grantaire snorted and shook his head. “You pay me to be not so bad, y’know?” He grinned and locked his gaze with Enjolras’ for so long Enjolras’ stomach started to flip over in his belly. Eventually Grantaire closed his eyes and Enjolras let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“You’d be fine even if I wasn’t paying you to be,” he answered. “You’re just a good person.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t always. I just keep telling myself I can’t go back to the way I was,” Grantaire answered without opening his eyes.

“You won’t. We’ll keep each other on the straight and narrow,” Enjolras promised.

“Nothing you do is particularly straight,” Grantaire laughed suddenly.

“Oh, shut up. You’re the worst.” Enjolras broke out into a grin though and shook his head. “Think this’ll make the news tomorrow?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Almost certainly,” Grantaire answered with a nod. “But it’ll be good. How you can persevere through anything but, more importantly, how you put everything on hold in your career to help a friend in a time of distress.”

Enjolras frowned. “That’s bullshit. Anyone would do this.”

“No, they really wouldn’t, Apollo. No other politician in the world vying for Senate would stop his campaign to go to the hospital because his best friend’s brand new boyfriend happened to have gotten hurt. That’s just not how people interested in bettering themselves behave.”

“But…come on. It’s Courfeyrac. Anyone would do this for Courfeyrac. I’m sure a million and three fans are going to be coming over to see him, putting their own lives on hold.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t do this for Courfeyrac or at least not as a fan. You did for Ferre. You did this as a friend,” Grantaire argued.

Enjolras sighed and looked at Grantaire for a long moment before looking away. “I just hope they don’t think it’s a publicity stunt or that they say something bad about Courf.”

Grantaire smiled and tilted his head against the wall. “You’re such a good person, Apollo. What changed you from high school?”

The words fell like concrete against Enjolras’ chest. He took a few moments to compose himself. He had to be in control whenever he gave the answer. That was a rule. If he was talking, he was in control.

“I was trying really hard towards the end of high school. Harder than I can say in words. I was just realizing all of my faults and privileges and trying to overcome them and use them for good.”

“You were pretty shitty at it,” Grantaire said.

“I was trying.”

“You just dropped me for prom. The pain I…” A muscle spasmed in Grantaire’s jaw. “I hated myself. I wanted to know what was wrong with me that you couldn’t even take me to a stupid dance and then I was pissed at myself for being pissed. Do you know what I did after?”

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I have a general idea.”

“Christ, Enjolras, I almost died.”

“That’s not my fault! I didn’t mean to!”

“But you did!”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying!”

Grantaire’s retort died in his throat and he looked at Enjolras who was still stiff, as if he was bracing for the impact of what was going to happen.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean that I tried everything to make sure I could get back in time. There was just no way. It was a six hour drive. I would have gotten back after the dance had ended. And you can’t ask me to have given that up. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish if I’m telling you that but my future was there. Not at a dance. The only future there would have been our friendship and we could have continued that afterwards anyway. But you didn’t want to.”

“You used me for a full year and then didn’t want to go through with the rest of the plan!”

“I wasn’t using you! I genuinely liked you. Bahorel genuinely liked you! You kept even Combeferre on his feet in the classroom and out of it.”

Grantaire bit his lip and looked down at the ground. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask. I thought you liked us too.”

“I did. Y’all were great. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t lose us. You quit the game entirely. You gave us up.”

Grantaire bit his lip hard and a heavy silence settled over them.

“Thought I might kiss you at prom,” Enjolras said after a few seconds.

Grantaire startled back into reality. “What?”

“I mean I probably wouldn’t have. I was practically paying you to go to prom with me but I daydreamed that I might kiss you. Be sappy and cliché.” Grantaire nodded mutely. “And then it all came crashing down and…” Enjolras shrugged.

Another silence fell between them. Suddenly Combeferre sat up and shook his hair out. “Now that you’ve had your moment, can we please go see my boyfriend?” he demanded.

Grantaire and Enjolras both came out of their skin. “What the shit?!” Grantaire cried at the same time Enjolras demanded to know what the fuck he was doing.

“You were having a moment. It was a decade overdue. I thought I might let you two hash it out. But, as always, it took you both so long to wrangle with your feelings and get to the point that Courf’s probably awake.” Combeferre scowled at the complexity of the situation and his hair.

“How long have you been awake?” Enjolras asked. His brain was still trying to catch up with everything Combeferre had just said and everything that had just happened. Grantaire included. Grantaire always included.

“Long enough. I heard the doctor and woke up.” A pause. “I’m in distress. Of course I woke up with the voice of the man who has my lover’s life in his hands.” Combeferre fixed his clothes and rolled his shoulders back. The man always took half a century to wake up. “But you two were being so sweet and I thought I’d let it play out and then you really started to get to the meat of things and I couldn’t stop you then.”

“You just listened to us pour out our hearts?” Grantaire asked. He looked between Combeferre and Enjolras, though he seemed to linger on Enjolras for a breath longer.

“If that was pouring your hearts out, you need more help than I can give you,” Combeferre snorted. He stood up and offered a hand down to each one of them. He didn’t even hesitate when they both grabbed him at the same time; he just tugged them up without batting an eyelash.

“What room’s he in?” Combeferre asked, already heading down a hallway. Enjolras sighed and followed after him. He glanced back at Grantaire nodded for him to come along when the other man seemed to hesitate.

They meandered through too many hallways and Enjolras wondered how in the world he was going to find his way back out with Grantaire. Though, maybe, just maybe, getting lost in a hospital with Grantaire wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to happen. There were plenty of beds… Enjolras snapped out of his thoughts and shuddered at how selfish they’d become. Sick and hurt people needed those beds. Not Enjolras and his hard on. An erection was not a medical problem. Or even a problem right now. He just had to stop thinking. Focus on Courfeyrac and not any other ink black curls that would feel so fucking good between his fingers.


	14. Chapter 14

[Perez Tweets 1](http://imgur.com/kV55QLl)

[R Response](http://imgur.com/ICt9W28)

[Ep Response](http://imgur.com/hEVzG8x)

[And Picture](http://imgur.com/oZxQSIK)

[Courf Response](http://imgur.com/aVZZJDo)

[Ferre Response](http://imgur.com/d0AH40A)

[Enj Response](http://imgur.com/o59snl1)

 

[R Fires Back](http://imgur.com/eeBtb3S)

[And Image](http://imgur.com/Z6kxDQg)

 

[People Tweet 1](http://imgur.com/gkBVDdb)

[Image](http://imgur.com/NUzb1BQ)

[R's Response](http://imgur.com/jK2HGVv)

 

[US Weekly Tweets 1](http://imgur.com/Odd6HiY)

[Image](http://imgur.com/NUzb1BQ)

[R's Response](http://imgur.com/XhJvSxi)

 

[TMZ Tweets 1](http://imgur.com/dAXlv0b)

[Image](http://imgur.com/NUzb1BQ)

[R's Response](http://imgur.com/qfZYyj2)


	15. Chapter 15

**The Rocky Road to Congress for Pierre Enjolras**

By Jehan P and Victor Piere 49 Minutes Ago

This election has seen many odd things. 2016 will certainly go down in history as…something. Probably something bad. However, those keeping up with the New York congress race have had extra oddity on top of a possible Zodia Killer and a literal moldy orange shouting at each other.

The charismatic mayor Enjolras started his campaign for congress early this year and definitely shown that he’s resilent, intelligent, and works well with others under stress. Below we’ve compiled the highlights of the campaign—the good, the bad, and the downright rude.

To get you started, here are his charts from January onward.

 [Image 1](http://imgur.com/mAteFl6)               [Image 2](http://imgur.com/XXzNvOM)

**[Begin Slideshow]**

 


	16. Chapter 16

[E/R Texts](http://imgur.com/uzM7Cze)

 

Enjolras, surprisingly, looked less than impeccable. There was a smear of pasta just against the curve of his jaw and his hair line was sweat soaked while the rest of his hair reacted to the humidity of the kitchen. There was a floury handprint across his hip to the back of his pants and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and wrinkled for it.

He was perfect.

Grantaire grinned and stepped inside as Enjolras let him. The door clicked behind Grantaire as he continued into the beautiful apartment and took off his jacket to hang on the coat rack just inside the living area. It smelt amazing and the table was already set, waiting.

“I, uh, made pasta. Well, I didn’t make it. Combeferre made it. Not that I was supposed to tell you that. Oh, God, Courf would kill me if he knew I spoiled it already. But I made the bread. It should be done any moment now. And, honestly, the bread was really difficult because it’s made from scratch and we didn’t have yeast and…” He rambled on until he saw Grantaire’s amused smirk. “Don’t look at me like that,” he chastised with a blush.

Grantaire only shook his head and went into the kitchen to poke around the pots and check the oven.

“No, wait, you’re ruining the point,” Enjolras objected, following after him after a little pause. “You just go sit down and I’ll make the plates and bring it to you. If you want to pick a wine, there’s some to the side of that China hutch.” Not that it held any China. In fact, it just held a bunch of stupid shit from his friends that meant the world to him. The piece of furniture was just a family heirloom so he had to keep it. It didn’t match the rest of his decoration but he had dealt with it so far.

Grantaire smiled and moved to look through Enjolras’ wine. There were some pretty decent bottles and he grabbed a 25-year-old Merlot. “Any special attachments to this?” Grantaire asked, showing it to Enjolras.

The blond glanced over and shook his hair out of his face. “Uh, no. It was given to me at a fundraiser as a gift a few years ago when I was first getting started. If it’s what you like, go for it.”

Grantaire nodded and did as he was told, working the cork out and pouring them each a glass before he sat down. He was jittery with nerves and excitement and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A kind of hope, maybe. A young, teenager-like innocence and wish for the night.

Enjolras came over a few minutes later with delicious looking plates of pasta and bread. “There were going to be vegetables but, honestly, I don’t like them so I didn’t make any.”

Grantaire laughed and nodded. “Fair enough, Apollo. Fair enough.” He picked up his fork before glancing over at Enjolras to make sure he wasn’t about to break some sort of prayer. When all was clear, he took a bite and let out an involuntary noise of adoration.

“It’s good then?” Enjolras asked. He quickly brought his hand up to catch the noodles that had fallen out of his mouth for it, not that it helped much.

Both men looked at each other across the table in their put on fancy environment before breaking out into laughter and shaking their heads.

“It’s amazing, Enj,” Grantaire promised. “You and your friends did good. But I won’t tell them I know.” He grinned and worked on getting another forkful of spaghetti.

“They’re your friends too,” Enjolras pointed out, in no mood to repeat the catastrophe from high school.

Grantaire laughed and nodded. “That they are. I don’t think I’ve ever had people show up to my apartment the day before I had to go on air just to take the edge off of everything.”

“Well then, your people suck,” Enjolras answered with a grin.

“Hey, you’re talking about Eponine there. Better watch it before you find your ass kicked,” Grantaire warned with a grin. “But, no, you don’t realize how amazing your friends are, Apollo,” he sighed. “You’ve got a great group of people around you. You’ve cultivated the most astounding family here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re a part of it now too,” Enjolras said quickly, smiling up at Grantaire. Grantaire blushed and looked back to his food. They ate in silence for a few moments, though Enjolras didn’t find it stifling as he usually did when he was with someone else. Instead, it felt like he was with Combeferre, but even then it was lighter. There was no worry about a sudden start from either man as they found something in their work or research, no potential texts or calls. Just two people who’d learned to enjoy each other’s company.

“So, I was thinking that for the campaign maybe we could…” Grantaire started after a few moments.

“No, no, no. We said no politics,” Enjolras interrupted immediately.

Grantaire smiled bashfully. “Sorry, old habits. I just don’t want to ruin this with an argument and we argue a lot when we aren’t talking about your campaign or…our friends.”

“Yeah, but still. As long as we don’t get nasty with each other a little bit of debate is good for the soul. Ferre and I argue all of the time.” Enjolras watched the guarded expression stay on Grantaire’s face and he sighed. “How ‘bout we start with a softie?”

“I’ll start you with a softie,” Grantaire answered without thinking and then went beet red. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” he apologized over Enjolras’ maniacal laughter. “Stop laughing! That was awful!” Enjolras shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t. Oh, God, Apollo. I hate you so much.”

Enjolras continued to laugh and Grantaire continued to get redder and redder as the blush traveled down his neck to his chest, over his shoulders. “That was so awful, R. I can’t believe that was such an automatic response. You’re a professional.”

“You said this wasn’t a professional setting!” Grantaire was completely mortified. Enjolras was delighted.

“Yeah, but still! The ease with which it came to you. I thought it’d have been trained out.”

“Oh, like you speak eloquently at all times,” Grantaire retorted, shaking his head.

“I’ll give you that. Get me going with Ferre and I’ll give you a mouth that could put anyone to shame.” After that it was easy. They meandered from subject to subject, discussing everything from Disney movies (“Oh my God, let it go!” “Don’t you dare.”) to presidential candidates (“This campaign is all for naught if Drumpf wins because I refuse to work in his Congress.”) to college antics (“You did not sleep with the Dean’s son just to get a few credits cleared!” “Of course not. I slept with him to get into the classes to get the credits.”)

Eventually, as all things must, the night drew to an end, long after their plates had been cleared, cleaned, and put away. Enjolras walked Grantaire to the door and they stood against either wall in the small walkway in front of the door.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight,” Enjolras said, grabbing the door and pulling it open. Grantaire stepped towards it. Enjolras dropped his other arm to guide Grantaire out but as soon as his arm was around the artist’s back, Grantaire was pushing Enjolras against the wall with a growled out “What the hell,” and Enjolras was more than happy to slam the door shut and grab Grantaire too, lips coming together in a fevered passion.

Grantaire had half of the buttons on Enjolras’ shirt undone before he suddenly stopped. “I want to go slow,” he murmured at Enjolras’ seeking expression. The blond nodded mutely and Grantaire used the two sides of his shirt that were unbuttoned to pull him into the living area and then blindly towards the bedroom. Enjolras guided him without really taking over. Somehow Grantaire got him to the bed and collapsed back on it. Enjolras crawled over him, resting on his hands and knees. Grantaire grinned up at him and Enjolras dipped down to kiss him gently. Grantaire ran his hands along Enjolras’ chest gently.

For, possibly, one of the first times ever—and a rare occurrence in general—the same thought was running through their heads: this was a long fucking time coming. Grantaire had fucking loved Enjolras from the moment he’d seen him. Enjolras had broken his heart and Grantaire had loved him through it. Loved him through everyone in his life hating him. Loved him into adulthood and through all of this. And Enjolras had discovered want and rejection and adoration with Grantaire. Grantaire was far more than Combeferre was. It wasn’t like Enjolras exactly looked for romantic love. And he didn’t seek it out with Grantaire. It hit him full fucking force.

So, yes, this was happening.

Grantaire slowly unbuttoned the rest of Enjolras’ shirt and ran his hands along the blond’s shoulders to brush it away. Enjolras shivered under his touch but remained still until the shirt was discarded. He sat back and started on Grantaire’s shirt, just as methodical as Grantaire had been, and Grantaire sat up to shrug it off. Enjolras pulled him into another kiss and Grantaire slowly laid back against the bed with Enjolras following. Both men reached for each other’s pants at the same time and both started to laugh against each other’s lips before kissing again.

Grantaire usually would have been self-conscious. He was suddenly thrilled this was happening now instead of in high school. He didn’t think he’d ever have made it to this stage with Enjolras ever with his body then. The bruises and the scars and the weight and the general awfulness of his health. Even now he was finding it difficult to let Enjolras see him and most of that was just residual hatred of himself. But there was no stopping this. He was focused entirely on Enjolras and didn’t even think to be ashamed of himself. Besides, he was traditionally hot now. He could do this.

Enjolras was able to get Grantaire’s slacks unbuttoned and unzipped first and worked them down his thighs before letting Grantaire do the same to him. They parted only to kick their pants off and, after a quick shared look, their boxers as well. Grantaire shifted to straddle Enjolras’ hips and press him back into the bed.

“Fuck, Apollo, look at you,” he breathed, running his hands down Enjolras’ chest.

“I could say the same,” Enjolras laughed. “And I’d appreciate it if you used my name in bed. You’re fucking a man, not a god.”

“I’m making love to a man capable of being a god,” Grantaire corrected.

Enjolras shook his head fondly and tugged Grantaire into another kiss. “Nothing fancy, Monsieur Grantaire. I just want to be with you,” he murmured as he trailed his lips over Grantaire’s cheek and to his jaw.

“We have all the time in the world,” Grantaire agreed with a smile. Enjolras nodded and blindly reached to his end table for lube and a condom. Always prepared. When he knocked over his stack of books, Grantaire took over the task and used a hand to press Enjolras back to the bed.

Enjolras was a dominant personality. He could walk into any situation and take over. Once, in college, he’d managed to end up inside a construction zone on his way home and listened to a crew bicker for a few minutes before he stepped in and started telling people what to do. He was convincing and charming and very smart. He liked to be in charge. He liked to do things his way. He wasn’t below asking for help but it wasn’t a habit. This? This was far different. He was ready to bend over backwards without explanation if Grantaire asked it.

“Fuck, Enj,” Grantaire breathed again, shaking his head. He kneeled between Enjolras’ legs and grabbed the lube, coating his fingers with it and running one along Enjolras’ crack and around his entrance. The blond started slightly before relaxing back into the bed and picking his hips up for Grantaire. Grantaire made thorough, but quick, work of opening him up before sliding on a condom and coating it with lube. He slowly pressed into Enjolras, listening to him gasp and groan in pleasure.

As in high school, Enjolras hadn’t slept with Combeferre since Grantaire had appeared back in his life. How much of that was Grantaire’s influence over Enjolras and how much was Courfeyrac’s influence over Combeferre was beyond Enjolras, especially in the moment. Enjolras hadn’t had sex, though, is the point of realizing that. He bit his lip as Grantaire pressed into him and dropped his head back. Combeferre was a fucking romance hero in bed but Grantaire was…everything.

Enjolras spread his legs further and closed his eyes, groaning out something between a curse and Grantaire’s name.

“What was that?” Grantaire laughed a little breathlessly. He shifted his hand over Enjolras’ as he bent over him and Enjolras quickly had their fingers slotted together. Once he was fully in Enjolras, he pressed himself over Enjolras’ chest to kiss at any skin he could get his lips on.

Enjolras brought a hand up to card through his curls as he started to get used to the feeling of Grantaire in him. “I said something along the lines of ‘fuck you, fuck me’,” he mumbled, scratching Grantaire’s scalp gently.

“I think it was sweeter than that,” Grantaire chuckled against Enjolras’ collarbone.

“Think what you like,” Enjolras answered. He moved his hand down Grantaire’s body before squeezing his other. He wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s waist and tugged them closer together, earning a moan from both of them. “This is the part where you start moving again,” he hinted.

Grantaire rolled his eyes but grinned anyway as he slowly started to thrust in and out of Enjolras. Enjolras held on tighter, getting progressively louder with each thrust, even as he pressed his face to Grantaire’s neck. The hand in Grantaire’s hair tightened and Grantaire loved every second.

“God, R, you feel so good,” Enjolras groaned and he shifted slightly to let Grantaire get a better angle. Not that there were any bad angles. Just new ones.

“So do you, baby. Fuck,” Grantaire gasped as he found a rhythm that kept Enjolras’ fingers tight around his curls.

Enjolras tugged Grantaire’s head up to kiss him again, much hotter and sloppier than before as his lips struggled to find purchase against Grantaire’s. Grantaire’s mouth eventually slid off and Grantaire shifted to kiss along Enjolras’ neck at the same time the blond did the same to him.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck! R, I’m fucking close,” Enjolras suddenly whimpered, hips rutting against Grantaire’s and pleasured cries dripping from his lips.

“We haven’t even gotten started yet, baby,” Grantaire whispered against Enjolras’ ear as if he himself was not on the verge, especially with Enjolras getting tighter around him. Enjolras came almost as soon as Grantaire had fallen silent, heavy and thick between them. As he clenched around Grantaire’s length in his orgasm, Grantaire tipped over the edge as well and came hard.

They collapsed in an exhausted, euphoric heap before Enjolras pressed against Grantaire’s chest to shove him off. “Too sensitive. Clean yourself up,” he mumbled.

Grantaire smiled and slowly pulled out of Enjolras, drawing only a groan in response, and pulled the condom off, tying it up and moving to the bathroom to get rid of it. He came back into the bedroom and laid down next to Enjolras who just curled next to him, tucking his head under Grantaire’s chin and wrapping his arms around him.

“Good,” was all the young politician said, already half asleep. He’d had entire conversations planned out for now but he didn’t care.

“Cryptic,” Grantaire hummed with a grin as he wrapped his arms around Enjolras. “Don’t you want to get cleaned up too?” he asked, rubbing Enjolras’ arm.

“You broke my hand, I think,” Enjolras mumbled.

“You broke mine,” Grantaire answered. “Do you want a rag?” he repeated.

“No. Stay.”

“I can do that,” the artist promised with a smile, settling down next to Enjolras and pulling him closer.

 

[Ferre/E Texts 1](http://imgur.com/za9kKYa)

[2](http://imgur.com/sgWcBWz) 


	17. Chapter 17

[Tweet 1](http://imgur.com/b3ySwED)

 

“What a fucking asshole!” Enjolras shouted while Grantaire was in the bathroom the next morning. Grantaire poked his head back into the bedroom and raised his eyebrow. “Donald Fucking Trump called me out on fucking Twitter!” the blond continued. He looked up at Grantaire finally before snorting. “You’re using Ferre’s toothbrush.”

Grantaire blanched and quickly pulled it from his mouth. “What the hell? Why does he have a toothbrush in your bathroom?” he asked as he ducked into the bathroom again to wash out his mouth.

“He has all sorts of his things here,” Enjolras answered. “He stays over a lot.

“Are you going to tell him I used his brush?”

“Only if he pisses me off,” Enjolras laughed.

Grantaire emerged again and moved to the bed, slowly crawling over Enjolras to kneel above him. “Are you saying he’d be pissed about it?”

Enjolras grinned broadly and ran his hand along Grantaire’s cheek, into his hair, and then down his back. “Probably. He’s very picky.”

“Sounds more like he doesn’t like me,” Grantaire murmured before kissing Enjolras softly. “Now, what were you shouting about?” he hummed when the blond relaxed underneath him.

“The fucking walking drainage clog of badly dyed hair just said I wasn’t fit for office,” Enjolras growled out. “And I’m not allowed to respond to him.”

“Says who?” Grantaire asked.

“Says the man who’s running my damn social media,” Enjolras shot back.

“Hey, don’t yell at me. I didn’t tweet it,” Grantaire defended with a grin. “And I didn’t say you couldn’t answer. “I’m right here. We could do it together.” He leaned down to kiss him again and nipped at his lower lip gently.

“Really? I can be bitchy on social media again?” Enjolras laughed, moving his hand to the side of Grantaire’s neck.

“I’m only giving the people what they want and deserve.”

“Oh, so you saw the op-ed about my lack of sass,” Enjolras hummed, raising an eyebrow.

“‘Young Mayor Notably Absent in Internet Justice’,” Grantaire quoted with a grin. He kissed Enjolras again before moving to lay against his side. “Let me see the original tweet and we’ll work out a response.” He reached out for Enjolras’ phone and Enjolras smiled down at him before kissing his forehead gently.

“You’re perfect, y’know?”

“Seems to be the popular vote.”

“General consensus, idiot,” Enjolras snorted.

“You know what?” Grantaire growled out playfully as he leaned over to bite at Enjolras’ lower lip, just this side of roughly. “The general consensus is that I’m perfect and that you’re gonna win the popular vote.”

 

[Tweet Reply](http://imgur.com/A73pfvk)

[3](http://imgur.com/UXEBqAQ)

[4](http://imgur.com/0WEtjmw)

[5](http://imgur.com/ROQ7ZGt)

[6](http://imgur.com/wRSvuto)

[7](http://imgur.com/RaUaFJ8)

[8](http://imgur.com/Dc2p4R5)


End file.
